A/U: Here it is the rewrite, I'll leave the old story as is until I finish the whole rewrite. I'd like to thank my beta for fixing my errors

Enjoy the first chapter.

CHAPTER ONE: THE FALL OF MAN

After civilization fell off after an unknown outbreak coming from nature itself, the disease has spread worldwide wiping out half the population. Most that have been affected by this disease have turned wild, feral even. This eventually lead others to form their own factions which lead to a beginning of a new civilization. Society collapsing was not far off in this situation, so once it did the men who were ambitious and hungry for power saw this as a gateway to create new orders.

They're all the same to Harper Haddock, at least that's what he thinks they are. Ever since he got separated from his parents back when he was still at the evacuation center, he's had to live on his own. He roamed around, city to city, road to road, surviving like everybody else. When he finally reached the tender age of seventeen he never knew that in the early hours of morning the first liquid that would've ever grazed his fingers on that day would be the blood of somebody else. His first murder.

It was early in the morning, the sky still a soft baby blue mixing with the wisps of the suns orange rays that brightened his path and helped him navigate through the city. He was out to find breakfast for himself, and perhaps other items that would help him in the long run. From the corner of his eye, he spotted something. A jar of peanut butter. Things like those were rare so without further hesitation he quickly made his way towards the jar that stood in the trash can. Before he could even get the full grasp of the item, a dirty hand took a hold of his wrist. Harper took a sharp breath, slowly averting his gaze towards the man who decided to ruin his peaceful breakfast. The man let out an animalistic growl before swinging his fist towards Harper's chin. Harper quickly dodged it however the man was definitely in for another round. Stepping back, Harper looked around and tried to find for something to defend himself with.

HARPERS POV

Five years. Five years have passed after the outbreak. I've been in the wasteland for such a long time. Looking back to the past where everything was okay has turned into my coping mechanism. I reminisced the days back when I was still in high school, merely nothing but a man who were in people's shadows, scrawny and think when I look at the mirror, useless when it came to activities, let alone a hiccup. The list goes on. To sum things up, I was a nobody. My father, the mayor in Berk, always had high hopes for me no matter how disappointing I was. One of the dreams he hoped for me to turn into was to become a strong, buff man who'd protect the family from any harm. Using the muscles that covered my bones instead of the one that were covered by my skull. My mother who was a veterinary on the other hand just supported the dream. Sad to say, they got the complete opposite but, hey, at least I still fulfill the protecting one, right? Even if I don't actually have anyone to protect right now. Just...myself.

Roaming the streets of Chicago, I made my back to my hometown, Berk. This area was dubbed as "The Safe Zone" or what I personally like to call no man's land. It fit's better. Today was a bit of a special day compared to the others. Today is the day I'm gonna be hired for my expertise. A part of me is scared but a part of me is excited. I can't wait to experience something new.

Entering the run down bar, I took a seat at a nearby empty booth and waited. The sudden feeling of nervousness stirred within me when it's been minutes and the said man who'll hire me hasn't entered. All of a sudden, the loud sound of a door slamming into a wall caught my attention. I shifted my gaze towards the entrance, a man with a well trimmed beard landing in my line of sight.

"Any of you know Harper?" the man asks. In that moment I knew that this must be Johann. A dozen set of eyes landed on me once my name was uttered. I raised my hand, an emotionless look on my face as Johann noticed me from across the room. He made a beeline towards me and sat right across me.

"Hello," he starts off in a shaky tone, nervousness coating his voice as he opened his mouth and continued, "you must be the mercenary everyone speaks of highly of."

"That is I," I confirm, playing with a knife in hand. I noticed him visibly gulp at the act. Containing the chuckle that wanted to come out, I leaned forward and asked: "How can I be of service to you?"

"W-Well, y-y...you se-"

"Also, please stop tapping your fingers," I requested, getting irritated at the fact that his calloused hands have been going back and forth between the table and air.

"I'm not going to kill you," I coax, even though to most that may seem menacing, "that is, unless, someone pays me to do so."

"A-alright," he says, clearly still nervous. I stared at him with a blank face, silently urging him to proceed once I started to tap my fingers myself. "O-oh," he lets out, "well, you see. I need protection in order to enter Berk, and as you can tell trade routes have been marked by The Outcast to ambush traders such as myself."

I looked at him closely, my eyes focusing on his hands as they pulled the collar of his tunic long sleeve with a makeshift red vest. There's a sliver of hope in me that it was bulletproof, but part of me knows that there's no chance for it to be one. The wind suddenly grew stronger, reaching into where we're seated at. As it blew his hair, I realized two braids that hung on the side of beard, framing his facial figure and the bun that sat atop on his head. He continued to fiddle with the sleeves of his tunic, which lead my eyes to the strap of his satchel. His overall look was innocent, he presented himself as some sort of Viking with a wastelander type of vibe. At least, to me he did.

If things were still normal, he'd pass off as some typical dad who always prepares Sunday barbecue parties for the whole family. The prolonged silence eventually got awkward, so, I spoke up.

"I'll do it," I replied, making him sigh in relief.

"But," I dramatically added, raising my pointer finger in the air for emphasis, making him pause mid-sigh with a very worried look on his face, "I need something in return for payment."

"I'll do anything your heart desires," he offers, sounding very desperate.

"Since you're a trader and you go around all the country," I start, giving him a quick glance before staring off a distance and thinking of the perfect occupation for him, "I want you to be my informant. Tell me all the rumors, gossip, latest news and so on that could help me get information in and out of the wasteland, got it?" I finished, slamming my fist on the table to finish the proposal.

He looked at me skeptically before nodding, "It's a deal then. But, first, what should I call you?"

"You can call me Drake, but my friends call me Fury," I answer, a smirk making it's way on my face as he nods, a confused look still evident all over his face.

"Why Fury?" he asks, one eyebrow arched up as he stares at me curiously.

Slowly, I trailed my hand down into my pocket, clutching the handle of the knife. I got up and made my way to his side of the table before quickly placing the knife onto his throat, just right above where I can feel his heartbeats the most, "It's because I kill people the same way demons do in the night, an unholy offspring of death itself. Is that enough of an answer to you?"

Frantically nodding his head, he spoke in a very high pitched tone masked with fear: "Yes, loud and clear. Now would you k-k-kindly let-let go of me, sir?"

I hold him close to me, the tip of my knife now poking his skin, "Tomorrow, we head out of the safe zone. Got it?"

He nodded frantically. Once I let go of him, I sheathed my knife right after as I watch him run out of the place as far as his legs could take him. From the side of my eye, I realize that the people in the bar had their eyes on me yet again, when they realized that I was staring back they all continued minding their business, the back of their heads once again facing me.

After lounging around for a few more minutes, I decided of giving the black market a visit.

It wasn't that far off from here, so when I got there I felt anger rise up in me when I realized that my personal favorite was being harassed by a bunch of people. As much of a garbage place we're already in, there are still some people who think they rule the place. It's even more laughable that this happens on a daily. Rolling my eyes, I got my beretta and placed it behind me, making sure to conceal it.

Stopping by a stall of what I assume was once filled with instant noodles, I leaned closely and eavesdropped. The words "pay" and "protection fee" were the ones that caught my attention the most.

Wow, Odin's beard, these guys are beyond delusional. Keeping my head down and only showing my hair, I crept up a little closer, pretending to ignore the situation.

When I was close enough, I saw two guys looking not older than what I do. The first one had a very toned appearance, his body sculpted nearly to perfection. It was only his face that threw the look off. On the other hand, the second guy was pretty average, nearly similar to me only if he dropped a couple of pounds.

"Yeah, protection. I'm feeling pretty safe right now," Demsey retorts, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he glares at the two men angrily.

"Look," the buff guy started, "we're asking nicely."

"You give your share like everybody else or Dagur will do it and trust me you don't want Dagur to take it from you," the second guy finished for the first one. The both of them eyed Demsey down like a hungry dogs seeing steak for the first time in 24 hours.

Silence is the only thing they got from Demsey, that is until he let's out a chuckle that stretched the silence even further. This riled them up, I assume, because at that moment the buff guy rose his hand and threatened to punch Demsey.

I saw this as a cue to play my part. Sneaking up behind him, I kicked his kneecap as hard as I can, making sure to dislocate it. Letting out a shriek of pain, he fell onto the floor as he clutched his now twisted kneecap. Joining him down there as well, I put him on headlock and placed the barrel on his head.

His much average looking friend wasn't filled of confidence compared to him yet surprisingly he mustered up the most idiotic looking intimidating face ever, if that even existed. He tried to keep his glare up to par as he brought up a pistol. A laugh makes it's way out of my mouth as I analyzed the pistol's shitty state. Instead of being black, like most pistols, it was brown. Mostly due to the fact that it's poorly covered by tape and the other mechanics that were meant to keep it together were nearly falling apart and loose.

"Atatatata," I say, pretending to be threatened by the water gun in his hand, "you might want to think first pal, I might clean my clothes after I fix this leak I'm holding right now," I said, menacingly tapping my gun on the buff guy's head for emphasis.

"Well, it's about time Drake," Demsay says, wiping off the excess blood dripping from his nose as a grin makes it's way to his face, "after all, it's a free country. Care to do the honors?"

I rolled my eyes at him before aiming my hand at the second guy and shooting it. He dropped his pistol as he clutched his now bleeding hand.

"Berserkers are at it again," I comment, giving the guy I still have in headlock a quick blow on the head, making him lose consciousness, standing up, I continued, "why don't you boys fuck with somebody else. So far you are asking black market merchants for protection money for the mere fact that you are in a settlement where all bounty hunters, hired guns, and raiders come here to sell what they had got in the wasteland." I chuckled, clasping my hands together and dusting off whatever dirt that's on them, before dusting off my shirt as well. "Is Dagur really that desperate?"

"And what are you exactly, the Berkian Guard?" the Berserker mocked, his tone faltering a bit. It was evident that he was trying to scare me off but it didn't work. I made a scared face, only to laugh out loud as he scowled at me.

"Well I'm a bounty hunter, hired gun, a mercenary, or whatever comes out of your mind. As long as it involves me killing someone for money." I answered.

"Hell, I wanna fucking kill you for free. That speaks a lot," I say, cocking a gun towards his forehead, making him stiffen underneath it.

"Who are you?" he asked shakily, the fear within him increasing as he took each and every breathe, savoring the last one to the next because it could definitely be his last.

Demsey then came forward to answer that question. By now everyone formed a circle around us, coming over to see what the commotion was all about. The newfound attention made me uncomfortable, reminding me of high school, back when I'd get the similar amount of attention only to be the butt of jokes. The passion and loudness of Demsey's voice when he delivered his speech snapped me back into the present. I shook my head as I averted my gaze towards Demsey, who's even including actions to emphasize my place in this society.

"...they call him a legend, some say he's just a wanderer, say he's a hired gun, hell, some even say he's not a man at all! Rumors say that he's the unholy offspring of death itself! People tell that when they hear the whisper of the night, when it's just actually him readying himself to pounce and kill his next victim," Demsey said proudly, causing not only the berserker to quiver in fear but also the witnesses as well who watched and observed.

Thank you Demsey, I thought. Way to get my reputation into a much higher level. Sighing, I punched the last guy that was awake out of the two, watching everyone let out low oooo's and aaaaa's.

Demsey clasped his hands together, approaching me with a look of distaste and a hint of hurt on his face as he eyed the gun I was holding.

"Is that the gun you bought from me?" he asks, arching a brow as I let out a chuckle in return for a response. Most of the "merchandise" I'd purchase from him would always end up like the others: broken. It was always the case for me since I'm under fire all the time. The gun would obviously be used, but once it's far too broken to even be held by my hand, I move on to ordinary daily equipment's, using them as a weapon of my own. At one point, I even had to use a spoon just to defend myself from this raider. I remember the memory very visibly in my mind, the cold hard metal being shoved deep down his throat, causing him to choke. Unfortunately, he didn't die due to that which lead me to banging his head against the ceramic wall.

"No," I finally answered, making him sigh in relief. I walked over towards his side, grabbing a pistol from the ground and tossing it towards him. "Don't worry," I continued, "I learnt my lesson when it came to breaking your items, you Scandavian fuck." I paused and waited for a reaction from him. All I got was a scoff. Satisfied, I continued.

"Anyways, here's the items you told me to get you, I found majority of them in a rotting corpse," I say, tossing my satchel towards him. He gracefully caught it, giving me a quick wink with a thank you before opening the bag to take a quick peek.

Approaching him and peeking along, I comment, "I don't want to ask why you want...that," I gesture towards the odd items in the bag. He just shushed me, walking towards the exit before pausing exactly a few inches near the way out.

"This'll do," he says, shaking the bag up in the air, "thanks Harper, really appreciate your help. What about you? Do you have any requests in mind?"

"Glad you asked. Currently, I'm in need of a rifle. One that can at at least reach two hundred to three hundred meters, needs to be smooth, especially midway before I could hit my target. Also, I want it to be as light as feather. Lastly, ammunition has to be something I can find in the wasteland as I'm on-the-go," I answered calmly, hoping to have gotten the point across. Demsey rubbed his chin, deep in thought and I assume must be visualizing the gun in mind.

Looking at me with a questioning look followed with a shrug, he then eyed the store, scanning the items at the back before making his way there. He stayed there for roughly thirty minutes. The sound of metal hitting metal and out equipments clanging together bounced off the walls as he focused on creating my desired gun.

When I finally saw his head emerging out of the aisles, I got out of my previous seated position and glanced the gun in Demsey's hands.

Carefully taking the gun from his hands, I eyed the Springfield M1903. The body was a midnight black, with specks of dust here and there. Brushing that of, I tilted the gun, checking the custom made barrel it had fitted with a custom made suppressor that looked like it was a shotgun type. The butt of the rifle was completely different, it had the butt of a Mosin Nagant, an old rifle. It had pockets around it to hold the cartridge filled magazines. Shifting my gaze to the bottom part, I realized that it was not a rifle based reload but rather a magazine one. Pulling out the magazine, I checked the 7.62x39 cartridges, remembering briefly that this is what the Chinese and Russians would often use in their AK's. Lastly, the scope was just any standard scope, only difference for this one was the fact that it was covered in cloth.

"Yeaaah.." I trail off, giving Demsey a hesitant look as I asked him if he was sure about the suppressors being able to muffle the noise since the suppressor for this one was for a shotgun.

A smile is what I got in response to him, "Harper, you always use my guns. What's the difference with this?" I inhaled, thinking about what he just said.

"Trust me," he continues, "I fully remade that suppressor for it to fit nicely with the barrel itself. Can you tell it's light?"

I weighed it out with my hand, holding it first with my two hands before decreasing it to one. It's true, the gun was pretty light. Even lighter than my old rifle. "What material did you use to make this? It feels lighter and looks much stronger."

"Well," he starts, a smug look on his face at the praise and validation he just got from one of his creations, "that's a family secret. I'll spill it to you one day if find time for yourself to help me with the shop."

He gives me a heartwarming smile to which I reciprocated back. Grabbing the rifle, along with the ammunition, I bid my goodbyes and so did he. Along the way, I headed to the inn where I normally crashed in. It's not the comfiest inn out there, but I really needed and am desperate to get a good night's rest before escorting Johann to Berk.

I sighed, time to go home.