A/N: So, before I start this thing, let me address the elephant in the room. I haven't written anything in a very, very long time. That mainly has to do with becoming a father, but I am back. Yes, this is a new story, and yes, I am aware that I have quite a few unfinished ones that I do hope to get back to at some point. But for now, I think it necessary to start a new story just to get back on track. So, without further ado, I give you Signs of Life.

Prologue:

The Man was escorted through the streets of Jackson, to the home of the ones in charge by one of the town's residents; a big and burly man referred to as Scramm. Scramm had been tasked with the morning watch, and had spent the last four hours sitting up on the wall, watching the surrounding wilderness. The time had been somewhere around ten, two hours before his shift was over, when he spotted the man approaching. The only reason Scramm hadn't seen him sooner was because of the sole fact of how slow and calm he walked, with his hands in the pockets of his ragged blue jeans, his shirt hanging loosely off of his thin frame.

After only a brief bit of hesitation, Scramm got Maria on the radio, who told him to bring the Man to her home. Scramm supposed she wanted to see whether or not it would be a good idea to let the Man stay.

When they arrived at the large, two story house that belonged to Maria and her husband, Tommy, Scramm took one last deep breath of the fresh morning air. The people of Jackson tried to keep the homes they lived in as clean and well-kept as possible, but Scramm just couldn't stand the musty smell that seemed to permeate every inch of the house interiors.

He left the Man and Maria sitting at the kitchen table, Maria on one end, the Man on the other. For a long moment after the sounds of Scramm's departure had faded, the two stared at each other in silence, sizing each other up. The Man gazed at Maria with cerulean eyes that seemed to hold never-ending abysses. He blinked slowly, breathed evenly through his nose, sat stock still in the chair with his hands resting in his lap.

"So," Maria said, partly just to break the silence. "You came here alone?"

"Yes," the Man said.

"How long were you on your own out there?"

"A long time. As long as I can remember, really." Which, the Man supposed, was true in a sense.

"And you're looking for a safe place?"

The Man didn't respond at first. He looked around the kitchen, gazed out the window at the blue sky, littered with white. "A safe place would be nice, I suppose."

"Well—" Maria began.

"Do you have a bathroom?" The Man asked.

"A bathroom."

"I would like to...relieve myself. Also, these clothes aren't exactly the cleanest. I have some in my pack, and I would like to change."

Maria watched him for a minute. He stared back. His expression totally calm. He waited.

"First door on the left upstairs," Maria said.

The Man smiled. "Thank you."

He stood from the table and left the kitchen. He went up the stairs and slipped through the first door on the left. He carefully pushed the door shut and locked it. He slipped his pack off his shoulders, opened it and lined its contents on the sink. He took a leak, zipped up his fly, and slipped off his boots. His left big toe was poking through a hole in the sock. From the counter, he picked up his rope. He tied an end tight around each wrist, reveling in the feel of the course material scratching against his skin.

Slowly, carefully, he unlocked the bathroom door and eased it open. He listened. Downstairs, he could hear her talking to someone over the radio. She was asking someone named Tommy how work was going over at the dam. Good. No one had come around yet. Moving slow, so as not to make too much noise, the Man crept towards the stairs and descended to the first floor. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped and listened. Maria was no longer in the kitchen, from the sound of her voice, she had moved deeper into the house.

He crept past the stairs and the now empty kitchen. He pressed his back to the wall on his right as he went. At the end of the hall was an archway that led into a living space. He could hear her voice coming from in there.

Very carefully, he looked around the corner. Maria was looking out of the window on the opposite side of the room. Her back was to him. His lips stretched into a smile.

"Okay," she said into the radio. "I love you too. I'll see you tonight." She clipped the radio to her belt. The Man took two bounding steps and lunged. Maria started to turn, too late. The Man threw his arms over her shoulders, slipping the rope around her neck. He wrapped it around a second time, jumped up and slammed both of his knees into her back. They both crashed onto the floor.

She didn't have a gun on her person. She tried to get her hand underneath the rope; but he had it pulled to tight. They rolled around on the floor. The Man kept getting himself on his back again. His wrists were rubbed raw. Maria's lips were turning blue. Her eyes were bulging. There were little wheezing noises coming from her throat. He tugged even harder. Their backs arched. She gave one last pitiful wheeze, and then her neck snapped. Her body went limp against his. For one moment he lied there, breathing heavily, a small smile on his face.

Once he untangled himself from her, he removed the ropes from his wrists. He went back upstairs to the bathroom. He put the rope back in his pack, slipped his boots on. He turned on the faucet and ran his raw wrists underneath the cool water for a minute. He picked up the hunting knife from his pack off of the counter and stuck it in his belt. Next he took off his shirt and tore off the forearm of the left sleeve and stuffed the fabric into the neck of the bottle of alcohol from his pack.

He went through both floors of the house. In the bedroom, he found a photo featuring Maria, along with who he assumed was Tommy and two others—a grizzled old man and a young girl with auburn hair—the man he assumed was Tommy had an arm wrapped around her waist; all four of them were smiling (well, three of them were smiling, the grizzled old man looked as if he were attempting to smile). The photo looked as if it was taken recently and he took a moment to wonder where they could have found a working camera. He took from the bedroom a hunting rifle and extra ammunition he found in a nightstand drawer.

Downstairs in the living room, the Man took a second and third bottle of whiskey from his pack and splashed the living room with them, making sure to thoroughly douse Maria's body. From his pocket he produced a book of matches. He lit one, walked backwards through the arch into the hallway.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said, and tossed the lit match; it landed near her head, and the room was set ablaze.

It was the signal. The others would see it soon, and then they would reduce this place to nothing.

Before anyone inside Jackson's walls were aware of the fire, the Man was gone.

A/N: Okay, so that is the prologue. Man it feels good to be back! Let me know what you guys think.

~Exangellion