Welcome back my dear readers, sorry for the late chapter but the perfectionist in me refused to release this chapter until it was satisfied. I hope you my dear readers are too satisfied, please leave a review constructive critisicim is always welcomed. But most importantly have fun reading.


The Line

Act 1

Chapter 6

Redemption

Wolf and Harry sat on the ground eating their meager meals, with the latter nervously chewing on his food, desperately wanting to ask a question. Wolf sighed inwardly and nodded his head towards Harry, while motioning with his arms to ask what ever question the young teen had in mind.

Harry gulped down his mouthful of dry meat before speaking "So, how do you know of, you know, my people? What had happened that people became aware of magic?"

Wolf raised an eyebrow as dread settled within him.

Great, the first words he speaks and it's asking THIS question. Perfect. Wolf thought, but swiftly reminded himself of the young teen's 'peculiar situation' and spoke with dread, "Boyo, Harry... what I am about to say, will most likely not be very…well received by you. Do you understand?"

Harry, in the depths of his mind knew that the smuggler was right, and judging by Wolf's reaction of finding out that he was indeed a mage, Harry could imagine that something in the past had gone, very, very wrong to cause such a hate-driven reaction.

Nothing new here. We have already established that this world is Satan's play toy. So it's safe to assume that everything here is shit. Harry thought bitterly as he slowly gestured for the smuggler to go on with his retelling of these terrible events.

"You know the outbreak happened in September 2013, right? This time was, and I won't sugar-coat it, horrific. People killed left and right, families ripped apart, in most of the cases literally, and wiped out. Friends killed each in fear of being infected or seeing a chance to do whatever the fuck they wanted in their sick, fucked up minds. Rioting, looting, soldiers shooting anything that moves, trying to enforce martial law only making it worse."

Wolf shook his head, his shoulders slumped, and a haunted expression began to worm its way onto his face as he continued, "And then there were the Infected. Crazed people. Red eyes, their limbs crumpled and sharpened enough to easily and messily tear through anything that stood in their path. And their disgustingly disfigured faces, littered with boils and fungal growths, still haunt me to my very bones."

Wolf barely managed to supress a shudder, his eyes unfocused only for a slight moment as if he was getting lost in something from his past, before he snapped out of it and resumed with his story.

"Family members now mauled each and bashed each other's skulls in. It was chaos, plain and simple. Now imagine this, during such a devastating viral outbreak, where society and entire lives that have been built up for generations are being torn down to the ground, that in such a moment, you see and hear of weird people you have never seen before. Dressed in strange, almost medieval clothes, doing weird, alien like stuff almost familiar to magic," Wolf rubbed a hand down his face, as if reluctant to continue, "They... killed people with bright green beams, or turned them into a bunch of nutjobs drooling all the time, unable to form a single coherent word. Then come these mystical creatures. Honest to God dragons and giants roamed around the countryside, laying waste to anything the Infected hadn't destroyed."

Harry's food lay forgotten on the dirty ground as he listened to the tale of the smuggler, the hairs on his neck rising upwards as his mind produced vivid images of these terrible past events that had ruined the earth and corrupted humanity's morality.

Wolf had to take a deep, steadying breath as an uncountable amount of horrible memories, reminders of his past deeds shot up before his mind's eye. He tried to form them into words, but these experiences, these grueling, cruel, inhuman deeds Wolf had witnessed and done first hand, simply could not be put into words. But deep down within him Wolf had this incredible desire to just let it all out. So he continued telling his bloody tale.

"That was the first encounter with…magical people, or mages as they were called by the majority of the survivors. As you can imagine first impressions weren't that smooth and in all that chaos, the only thing everyone cared for was survival. But then came the Great White."

Harry felt an immense amount of dread washing over his senses at the smuggler's heavy, bitter voice resonated from an empty shell that had lost everything he had ever cared for.

Wolf gulped heavily and continued before his resolve could abandon him. "It began in the same year as the Outbreak, a few months have since went by, barely. Barely. It was December, never hated that month as much as I did during those bitter cold days. Took us completely by surprise. Countless QZs, Quarantine Zones, fell or simply died off because of the ruthless and merciless weather. It almost seemed like hell had frozen over," Wolf chuckled mirthlessly, "Everywhere you looked there were frozen dead bodies, infected or not. The chill wind howled against our faces and bodies, rendering whatever protection we had against the cold useless as it basically ripped through clothes and tissue with terrifying ease. Made it feel like it was almost -100 ° degrees. People ripped their clothes off in paradoxical underdressing ... it was madness."

Wolf stopped as pictures of naked carcasses laying in ditches or on the street shot into his mind, their clothes close by or right next to them. He remembered how dirty and terrified he felt as he put on a dead man's clothes in a vain attempt to keep himself warm. How he had killed, in the seemingly endless lands of snow and cold in order to survive just another day.

The cold, howling wind echoed outside the dangerous wilderness of a post-apocalyptic world, carrying all surrounding noise of despair and death from every corner of the earth into the duo's hearts, sending cold shivers down their spines.

Wolf grimaced as his mind recalled those awful and dreaded memories he had worked so hard to bury.

With bone-chilling numbness in his limbs, the young battered teenager struggled his way through the hip-deep, white, ice-cold snow, his clothes soaked with his own urine freezing them solid against his skin. His eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to protect them from the relentless cold and these terrible howling winds. His entire body trembled from the cold as his mind was assaulted with an indescribable wave of terror and fear, as he slowly, passed by the countless dead and doomed people stumbling all the way, completely oblivious to their very existence and their shared misery. Crippled, thin, almost dead, black fingers clutch a piece of cloth tighter to the freezing and shaking teen, almost completely covering his face and body as he idly stepped over the frozen, crumbled corpse of a young child. Her skin pale blue, covered with ice crystals, her expression frozen into one of utter terror and anguish. A tiny hand, deformed in such a terrible way, grasped upwards as if asking for help. Her tiny, frail body, along with an uncountable amount of people who had shared the same fate lay behind the young, battered teen as he continued onwards with his journey of surviving just for another day.

A strangled gurgle erupted from deep within the smuggler's throat as his eyes shot open at the shock of these resurfacing pictures. Bloodcurdling coughs raked his entire body as it trembled.

Concerned, Harry moved to help the smuggler but the man waved him off with his hand as he tried to regain control of his lungs, subduing his coughs.

"Fine. I'm fine," Wolf muttered as he vigorously shook his head.

Harry looked uncertain, before slowly inching back to his place. The words of the smuggler had shaken Harry as he tried and failed to picture these terrible events, probably for the best. Risking a glance out of the window of the wooden house, Harry shivered as he literally felt the cold of those past days, the hairs on his neck rising up at the thought of so many people dying because of the ferociousness of Mother Nature.

I doubt that even the wizarding world would've survived such an ordeal. Harry thought grimly as he listened to the Wolf's tale. He had seemingly composed himself enough to continue.

"During that time I was fleeing with a large group of survivors from Quarantine Zone to Quarantine Zone, as each got destroyed by either civil unrest, Infected or the fucking cold. I remember that we were almost five thousand people in the beginning. By the start of January we were only two hundred," Wolf paused for a moment before continuing, "Even the Infected crawled into whatever holes they could find in a desperate attempt to escape the cold. Countless people had their fingers or toes missing, or had become blind as their eyelids sealed shut and froze over."

Wolf could feel his throat tightening as bile and tears tried to force their way out, but he barely managed to keep them suppressed, aggressively running his hand over his brown, greying hair.

Those days are long gone and you move on like you always do. Wolf reminded himself as he steadied himself and resumed telling his tale, only accompanied by the soft noises of the night and forest.

"When I had reached New York, the 33rd Infantry had blown up all the bridges connecting Manhattan Island to the main land, effectively isolating themselves from the rest of the world, officially going rogue. The 33rd still reigns over the entirety of New York City with an iron hand and keeps it clean from Infected and other threats for almost twenty years. They couldn't handle the incoming waves of refugees as they got their hands full already, so I can't blame them for deciding to cut the losses and focus on the people under your watch that you can protect, rather the risking it all," Wolf said, "But for me back then, it was almost like the Outbreak was happening all over again. After crossing country for months, hearing tales of the legendary safe haven that was New York City, seeing a glimmer of hope at the far end of a really dark fucking tunnel, only to see it brutally snatched away right front of you could break you,"

"Hell it almost did break me," Wolf admitted bitterly, "I remember bawling my eyes out as I sat on the ground, watching the burning remains of the Brooklyn Bridge smoldering away. A few even committed suicide at the place. Couldn't take it anymore. Some people even tried to cross the frozen river in order to get into a safe haven. The 33rd had them lined up and shot. They were desperate to live. But so was the 33rd," he shook his head, "I don't remember what happened or how I came to the decision, but the next moment I found myself hiking my way across the hip-high masses of snow and corpses South. Hoping to find a warmer safe haven. Eventually I found it, in the 4th Extermination Group."

Extermination Group? Harry thought, alerted as he stared in numb terror at the unblinking, unreadable eyes of the smuggler. The smuggler shifted slightly, trying in vain to ease his unconsciously tense muscles. Harry could basically feel how difficult it was for the smuggler to speak about these past things, but Harry also knew that the smuggler had to and he personally wanted some answers, which he knew from the beginning he wouldn't like one bit. His dreaded thoughts were confirmed as the smuggler spoke in a bitter, almost melancholic tone.

"By the time the Great White was over we had lost almost a quarter of the population that had survived the Outbreak. Every fourth person who had survived the Outbreak died in the Great White. Not counting the ones who died by other humans. Or by the virus and the Infected," Wolf continued, "It was horrible to the morale of the people, many thinking that it was a punishment of God or whatever entity they praised. That's where the mages came up. 'Abominations' they were called. Non-Humans. Freaks. Vice versa."

Unnoticed by the smuggler Harry flinched violently at the mention of the last word and the bellowing, angry voice of his thankfully deceased uncle shot into his ear.

"You are a FREAK! Just like your freakish parents! YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE AND SHOULD HAVE NEVER BEEN BORN!"

Harry shook himself, violently ejecting himself of this terrible memory and focused on the present.

Vernon and his family are dead and gone. They are gone. Gone. They can't do anything to you anymore Harry. He chanted to himself a few times to calm himself.

"People…people were angry. Confused. Terrified. They had lost everything, had seen their families killed, torn apart, or worse. Their society broke down, their money, homes, EVERYTHING they had held dear was gone, seemingly without reason," Wolf's gravelly voice brought Harry back, "People simply went...mad. Then the mages came in. Perfect scapegoats. People started to blame them for everything that had happened to them and those they held dear. Hate grew to unimaginable levels,"

"In retrospect it felt like I was in Nazi Germany during the Jewish prosecution. Or the witch hunts in the post-medieval times," the smuggler continued without hesitation, "Leaders established themselves calling for a cleansing. Priests and self-declared 'popes' called out for a holy war against these abominations, for they were the source of evil and all the misery that had happened to us in these past months. Harry, please understand that, when society breaks down or something catastrophic happens, were no one can guarantee their safety…people tend to do stupid and horrible things."

Wolf hesitated. He knew the next part would take a great amount of self-control for what he was about to say next. A sense of guilt washed over him as he took a steadying breath and spoke, trying as hard as he could not afford to falter.

"I was one of them," Gulping heavily, Wolf did not dare to look into the boy's green eyes, firmly keeping his gaze on the floor as he began to recount the horrific deeds and crimes he had done so long ago, "They were so...secure, like a tower of strength. I was completely devoted to them to the point that I would've thrown my own mother under a train if they would have asked me to,"

Wolf paused as Harry's eyes widened, "Mages started to establish 'muggle-free areas', I'll never forget that stupid name. It was like a slap to the face for us. Those abominations settling down in OUR former homes, claiming what was rightfully ours. Some started to openly attack us. Murdered dozens upon dozens. That's when we started the Great Purge. Took us almost two whole years. All across the states we had rounded up everyone who looked or seemed to be like a mage,"

"With each day we were getting better. Better at seeing through their charade that kept them hidden. Better at fighting them and their terrible beasts. Better at killing them. The Leader of the Great Purge, Anton Tashin, he was a…borderline psychopath, completely deranged. And we followed him like sheep," Wolf spat out in obvious distaste, his face grotesque as he visualised his past deeds. Anger, shame, and self-loathing were just some of the many emotions that shot across Wolf's mind. Harry only looked at his protector slowly as a dreadful, horrifying realization forced its way into his waking mind.

It can't be. It couldn't be! Harry thought as he as listened with an increasing amount of dread the smuggler's tale.

"He had taken a liking to the old tales of one Vlad Tepes, better known as Dracula. Raved about him every damn night, that sick fucker," Wolf grumbled as he spit onto the floor, making a disgusting snorting noise before continuing.

"Decided to make a forest of his own. One that would remain intact for all eternity. He had picked a mage who was as equally fucked up as him and tortured him into madness. Didn't even think that was possible with the nutjob. He had ordered him to use a spell to conserve the bodies and the half-dead in their very last moments of their lives,"

"Sick bastard had fun doing it too, forever allowing his own kind to be impaled on a fucking wooden stake, taking their sole refuge of a coming death in exchange for eternal torment. Said that 'they were too weak', fucking maniac," Wolf said, "Got the nickname 'the Butcher'. I dearly hope he's dead, escaped our death squads in the middle of the night killing fifteen of our soldiers while doing it."

The Butcher? Could it be Voldemort? But he would never work together with muggles eradicating his OWN kind! Who is he? Harry thought as he couldn't even picture someone just as bad or even worse than Lord Voldemort. He refused to accept such a thing.

"At first it was exciting, like a drug that I just couldn't refuse and always had to get more and more. In two years we had ripped, raped, and ravaged our way across the country collecting more mages for our 'little forest',"

Wolf supressed a shudder, "I had lost count of how many I had killed or…did things so disgusting and vile it is best to leave them out. But, like everything, it all comes to an end and there is always this moment when your eyes are forced open and you HAVE to face the consequences of your actions." Wolf slammed his fist down onto the wooden floorboards, jolting Harry back to attention, "That moment was when that sick duo revealed to us their grand work, The Forest of the Impaled. In all of its rotting, screaming and twitching glory. In the end we had impaled over two-hundred-thousand 'mages', effectively rendering them extinct on this continent. We had heard whispers during our genocidal campaign that this was happening all over the world. When I saw this…this…"

Wolf swallowed heavily and blinked furiously in an effort to keep the tears at bay, but some were already streaking down his dirty face, showing just how close he was to the breaking point. The terrible screams of the dying came to his mind. The glassy eyes of his victims, staring back at him in horror, confusion or sometimes acceptance. But he knew he couldn't stop now. Wolf knew that he owed it the boy to tell what had happened to his kin, however gruesome and terrible it may be.

Harry wasn't even listening anymore, his mind had effectively shut itself down as he is faced with this mindboggling revelation.

Two-hundred-thousand dead! Impaled on stakes for who knows how long, bound by magic in order to increase their suffering! Oh my God! Was there anyone I knew? And he said that it happened all over the world, does that mean...NO! No, no, no, no! It can't be! Sirius, Ron, the Weasleys, Hermione...they can't be...I can't be the last...Harry couldn't finish that last devastating thought as tears shot into his eyes, and he felt his throat begin to constrict. His mind was in a turmoil of emotions and thoughts, desperately trying to find head or tail in all of the confusion. A voice in the back of head begged to whoever might listen that the smuggler was just playing a really awful joke on him. But it wasn't and Harry knew it. He just didn't want to accept it.

"I snapped. Something within me broke, beyond repair and all I can remember is this awful feeling in the back of my head, the same feeling I had when…Bev died. Don't how long I just stood there and sobbed like a child but by the time I came around it was already midnight and in that moment, I knew what I had to do. I snuck into Anton Tashin's tent and clubbed him to death in his bed. And then I ran and ran, as far away as I could," Wolf's voice was distant and fuzzy in Harry's ears,

"From then on I traveled all across the country, avoided the conflict between the seceded South and North as much as I could. The second Civil War is still going on I wager, but in a Cold War-like state. To be honest I don't know how many I had killed during the Great Purge, but at the time I saw it as something of a sport. A way to support myself. But I know whatever I say, or no matter how many times I feel genuinely sorry for my deeds, it doesn't turn back time and won't make them disappear…" Wolf furrowed his brow, mustering every last bit of strength, "It doesn't make them like they never happened in the first place. Nothing ever will. You have to live with it. And I, I had that burden for almost eighteen years and I don't feel sorry for that in the slightest. I liked to believe that it made me to a better person. HA! Though luck…"

There was a silence after these words, after these grand revelations, where neither knew what to say to one another. Harry was as pale as a sheet as he realised the implications of what he had just heard, and gulped thickly with tears in his eyes. He couldn't believe what the smuggler had just told him. It just sounded so surreal, too horrible to be real.

Harry ran his hands over his face, as if to try to rub the numbness off of him, in a desperate attempt to get over the shock of these unspeakable realizations

"Does that mean that I am the last, the last...?" Harry couldn't even finish his sentence as the mere thought of it was too awful.

"Aye," confirmed the smuggler, not looking up from his meal. "You are, as far as I know, the last mage left on earth. The last of your kin," said Wolf grimly as he finished his meal and started to take his weapons apart, thoroughly cleaning them.

Harry made a sound, something between a yelp, groan, and a cry of despair. Hot tears stung his eyes as Harry thought of all the people, people like him, people he might have known, killed in the most brutal and inhuman ways.

No. It can't be. It can't be. It can't be true. Harry chanted in futility, hyperventilating already.

"B-b-but, my sister! She is my kin! I have to find her!" half sputtered, half yelled Harry with new fire burning his heart and mind, shining brightly in his eyes.

I can't be the last. No! I just simply couldn't! Hermione, Sirius, Ron and all the others...They have to be alive! Harry thought desperately as new vigour flooded his senses, spurring his desire to reach Boston to new levels.

He had to prove the smuggler wrong, somehow, he just had to. Standing up on his feet, Harry impatiently looked at the smuggler, who merely glanced up at him with an amused eyebrow.

"What are you waiting for? We have to get to Boston as fast as possible. Come on!" Harry said quickly as he gathered what meager equipment he had, only to be stopped by the guffaw of the smuggler, who almost fell over from his laughter.

"Hold your horses, boy! We ain't going nowhere today, or rather tonight. And you will not be going alone, because let's face it, you wouldn't last a heartbeat out there," Wolf said knowingly, stating the obvious. If the smuggler left Harry right here, right now, he wouldn't make it to Boston alive. It was as clear as the nighttime sky hanging over them.

Harry narrowed his eyes, daring Wolf to stop him, when the smuggler spoke again, "Now I will get you to Boston, boy...Harry. And what you are to do there is your business, not mine. But...in order for you to make your later life safer and mine a hell of a lot easier, I will teach you how to use a gun."

Harry eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at the smuggler's words, and he almost stumbled backwards a few feet in pure shock.

A gun? Harry thought with rising terror, as a dawning realisation struck his mind and his stomach twisted itself into an agonizing knot. He can't be really suggesting that I should learn how to ki-? He didn't even finish that disturbing trail of thought, already shaking his head vehemently.

"No. N-n-no, I can't d-do that," Harry stammered as he stepped back from the smuggler, as if he was infected with the Black Plague.

"Kid," Wolf started, but was cut off by Harry who, with a wild look on his face almost yelled, "No, I can't do that! I can't kill someone!"

A scoff escaped Wolf's throat as he mockingly raised his eyebrow at the young teen, and spoke, "And what did you do to the Hunter back in Portsmouth?"

"I didn't kill anyone!" Harry said tersely, his hands shaking, sputtering out words in a pace that almost rivaled a machine gun as cold sweat ran down his forehead, "I mean that...it's...He gave me no choice! I didn't mur-kill anybody! I am not a murderer! Nor will I become one! No!"

Wolf bit into his cheek and swallowed down a sharp and probably inappropriate response, carefully picking his words.

"You aren't a murderer Harry, you are right you had no choice other than fight for your survival. In this world you often don't do what you think is right, but what is necessary! Do you understand? It was either him or you, so you did the only thing you could've done in that situation. And you survived," Wolf snapped curtly.

There was a tense silence filling the room as Harry looking ghastly pale, his terrorized eyes wide as he nodded mutely to himself, before sitting himself down to the floor.

The image of the bloody, beaten man lying limply on the floor, the murder weapon in his very own hands.

Harry fought the urge to vomit, a bitter taste lingered in his mouth as his mind struggled to deal with the recent revelations, and the weight of what had happened in this last few days. Barely able to breathe, he felt like he had just run a marathon. Harry felt his lungs yearning, gasping desperately for precious air, an incredible weight pulling his body, threatening to bury him alive in misery and pain.

Deep down Harry knew that his grief, the immense amount of guilt baring down upon him was not because of the man he had killed barely two days ago. To be honest Harry didn't care, nor did he waste a single thought about that man, that so called Hunter, that animal, or even shed a single tear for him, either. And that frightened him to his very bones. This cold indifference towards the person, the person he had killed in such a gruesome, brutal way was an alien and terror-instilling sensation that threatened to devour him as a whole.

Gulping heavily, Harry ever so slowly, with faint streaks of tears running down his dirty cheeks, laid himself on the ground, curling into himself as tightly as he could when he realized why he was crying.

A line had been crossed from which there would be no turning back. Bitter melancholy arose with Harry as the memories of his youthful, ignorant self materialized in his mind's eye.

Himself losing against Ron in a match of chess. Being forced to study for upcoming exams by a stern Hermione that would make Professor McGonagall proud. Playing Exploding Snap with Ron, Seamus and Dean. Sitting silently in the library with Hermione. The walks around the Black Lake with Hermione in the cool morning hours. The soft, chilly wind running through his hair as he chased after the snitch, knowing that his friends, but most importantly Hermione were watching and supporting him. Lying sleepily in the common room, gazing into the crackling embers of the fireplace, or watching Hermione fall asleep over her homework, her cheeks slightly puffed and her mouth agape, or having fun with Ron and the twins. Moments where he was a normal teenager who had nothing to worry about besides school or family or his friends. Those peaceful, innocent moments. All gone.

Before any other thought could further torment his mind, Harry gained control over this maddening situation as he slipped away into unconsciousness, sleep overcoming his senses.


The walk to Boston was enveloped with a heavy, thick silence, remaining firm and unbroken despite Wolf's best attempts to strike a conversation with Harry, who appeared more distant than ever before.

Wolf sighed deeply, shaking his head clear of the disappointment and silently berating himself for being a blatant prick to the confused and terrified boy.

Great work you have done here now, mate. A twelve or thirteen year old child lost on a fucking beach, confused as hell, and first thing I do is antagonise him? Really good job of me. Made the job and both of our lives a lot harder. Wolf growled mentally to himself.

But who could he blame it to except for himself? Had he been kinder, maybe...?

A scoff escaped Wolf's cracked lips, his cracking the stoic façade ever so slightly. Regret and bitter anguish buried long ago revealed themselves only for a split second. The young, ignorant, fun-loving boy called Adam Keller died the same day as Beverly died in that godforsaken factory.

He was the Wolf now. The smuggler. The survivor. The drifter. The murderer.

Closing his eyes and trying to control his breathing, Wolf fought against the memories of his days in the Extermination Group.


"Come out here bitch!" A Private by the name Adam Keller yelled at the top of his lungs as he ran at the front door, ramming it over and over again with his entire body weight until it finally gave away, breaking apart with the door hinges half hanging, half lying upon the floor. Wooden splinters and parts lay scattered in front of him.

"Bastards are trying to apparate!" yelled one of his comrades mockingly as loud, hastened footsteps from inside the house reached Adam's ears. The sound of children crying as they hurried up the stairs, their mother whispering, ushering them to hide or flee.

Can't they see that they have nowhere left to hide? Adam thought smugly as he stepped through the broken doorway, a baseball bat in his gloved hands as he slid the visor of his riot helmet down to his face, taking away his last bits of humanity as he marched through the large three-storey tall house and stomped his way up the stairs. The wood beneath his heavy feet creaked sickly and ominously as various shouts and yells filled the area. It was like music to his ears.

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! AVADA KEDAVRA!" shouted a panicked female voice who had stepped out into the hallway in front of him, from the room to his right. Her face pale, eyes wide in terror and fear held a firm resolve as she pointed her quivering wand at his torso.

A sick, malicious grin appeared on Adam's face, hidden behind his visor as the woman, realizing that no green spell had ever come out of her wand, trembled and fell to the ground as her legs gave out in utter fear.

The house was burning, angry red flames illuminated the entire neighbourhood and deathly black smoke filled the midday sky, plunging this stretch of land straight to the gates of Hell. The whinnies of horses and the roars of large cars and trucks deafened the desperate pleas and begging and cries of pain and anguish coming from the captured wizarding family. Their captors were intimidating figures coated from head to toe in protective suits and armour. Military-grade ballistic vests, thick shoulder pads, gas masks, full armor covering everything except their eyes and mouths. All were clad in pitch black.

Their armament ranged from brutish bats, pipes, and dull, rusted machetes to fully automatic assault rifles and shotguns.

"Please don't kill my chil-" A loud ear-ringing shot echoed throughout the streets, a rasped gasp of shock, swiftly followed by the desperate heart-shattering cries and sobs of children.

One child, ten years old, his face contorted into a horrible grimace of anguish and sorrow tried to reach the corpse of his now deceased mother, only to be violently yanked back by one of the demon-like figures, receiving a black-armoured fist to his cheek.

Their father, now widower, snarled through his thick tears as he tried to lunge at the person-no-animal that had hurt his son, only to be stopped by numerous rifles, not only aiming at him, but also at his five sobbing children.

Barely restraining himself, the broken man glanced up to his captors, more specifically to one tall man, the tallest he had ever seen. Approximately seven, maybe even seven and a half feet tall. The armour unable to hide the man's large, almost inhuman muscles, crimson red blood spilled all over them like badges of honour. Some old, some fresh. But it was the head covered by this terrible helmet that inadvertently sent ice cold shivers down the poor widower's spine, no matter how hard he tried to not show his fear.

Demonic, narrow spikes adorned the top of the helmet like a crown, his face hidden behind a visor, the man spoke with a brass, harsh, voice with such a suffocating confidence, yet so devoid of life that it made the widower pale even further in pure terror.

"Do you see at last?" the impossibly tall, intimidating demon-king did not even look at the captive, his gaze firmly kept at the burning house as it crumbled in on itself.

"Do you see what your resistance has brought you? It was your kind's aggression that have led us here," the voice was kept neutral, yet everyone could sense and feel the great distaste and hate this imposing man had, making even his own men sweat nervously.

Adam, quivering ever so slightly, fingered his baseball bat with his twitchy fingers as he witnessed how their leader interrogated their captive.

Scum, Adam thought with utter hate as he looked at the man cowering in front of everyone else, they don't deserve anything different than this.

Clasping his hands, the demonic figure turned ever so slightly, not fully revealing his face and spoke with a booming, demanding voice, "Now, where is your enclave?"

The captive fearfully glanced up at the man-no monster, he corrected himself before stammering out with as much bravery as he could manage, "I-I don't know what y-y-you are t-t-talking about. We are m-merely survivors. L-listen. Listen. We c-c-can give you food o-or water or…or…"

"STOP!" shouted the monster, growling like an enraged lion as he glared from the corner of his eyes with disgust at the cowering captive, who pitifully tried to bargain with them for the safety of his children, begging them to spare them.

Waving his hand with extreme precision, without even looking up from the spectacle in front of him the demon-king barked, "Set them up!"

"No. No. NO! NO! Please, they are just children! They haven't done anything! PLEASE, THEY ARE JUST CHILDREN!" begged the captive as fifteen armoured soldiers led the children to a ditch, still in clear view for the father to see, who threw himself against the firm, brutal grips keeping him at bay, forcing him to watch the inevitable.

Adam was one of the fifteen carefully eyeing the children clinging to each other as they stumbled towards their terrible destiny. Slowly, he pulled out his pistol, only to be stopped by a fierce hand on his arm, keeping the pistol in the holster.

"Not for these, pup. The kids get special treatment," growled a gruff voice sadistically as he brandished his cruel machete.

Adam's eyes widened ever so slightly as he looked to his comrades readying their brutal bats, their various blunt weapons, and blades with glee to the weeping children.

A dozen riders on their trusted steeds, carrying bright orange burning torches rode ominously past them towards their next goal, when the fifteen soldiers raised their horrible weapons, ignoring the pleas of their captive who burst out the location of a wizarding enclave in blind hope of sparing his children a gruesome death.

Adam's limbs felt numb as he glanced at the captive and their leader, his baseball bat raised high above his head as nagging thoughts of doubt cried in his mind. Like an old Roman emperor, the towering leader held out his fist and pointed his thumb downwards, eliciting a hoarse cry from the begging widower.

Adam closed his eyes and let his bat swing down upon his victims, and the dying, anguished screams filled the air in a morality-defying cacophony of misery and death.


Shaking his head vigorously, Wolf cracked his neck as he cast a look at his protégé a few steps behind him, his face completely blank, lifelessly kicking an empty tin can.

Wolf swallowed a sigh, instead pressed his lips to a thin, narrow line to prevent a frown from working its way onto his face as he stared at the hollow teen before him, mindlessly walking ever onwards.

"I know what you are think, Wolfie, and it is the right thing," whispered Beverly's incredibly sweet, angelic voice, causing Wolf to close his eyes in bliss.

Right. Wolf thought stoically before opening his eyes with a determined look, marching towards the young teen. But he stopped midway as a nightmarish thought wormed its way into his mind.

Holy hell, what the fuck am I supposed to say to him?

"Improvise you were also a teen once," giggled the voice of Beverly in his ear.

Once. Wolf thought bitterly as he steeled himself and walked towards the young, more-than-likely traumatized teen with purpose, to set things right.

"It wasn't your fault, Adam." Wolf ignored the feeble attempt of comfort from Beverly, spoken in a soft whisper as he tried to catch Harry's attention.

"Hey. Hey boyo, hold up." Wolf requested. The young teen merely slowed his pace even further, the only acknowledgement of even hearing the smuggler as Wolf walked up to him.

Scratching the beardless side of his face, Wolf spoke confidently, "It's only another hour or so till we reach the outskirts of Boston. From there we'll have to cross the river to reach the northern QZ. Don't worry, boyo, you'll see your sister before the week is over."

A mere grumble was the only answer Wolf received from the teen, and he had to restrain himself from growling in frustration as he continued, desperately trying to come up with a topic to talk about. "So...where do you come from? Is there an enclave of wizards still out there?"

Harry's head shot up so fast that a few bones in his neck cracked in pain and protest as he spoke, his voice a mere dangerous whisper, "Why should I tell you, of all people? Want to finish the job?"

Wolf grimaced and tried to ignore the mistrusting, hostile glare from the teen, once again scratching the beardless side of his face.

Ok, you shot yourself in the foot, Wolf. No trying to deny it. Just…improvise.

Holding his hands in the air Wolf replied, "Look I couldn't give two shits about you being a mage-"

"That doesn't speak for your actions few days ago when you found out I was a wizard!" Harry shot back, interrupting him mid-sentence, his glare unwaveringly fixed on Wolf.

New score. Zero-two for Mister Brooding over there.

"I know…what I did in the past didn't leave a good impression," Wolf ignored the scoff coming from Harry as he continued, "but now I have realized that we work better together rather having a death wish painted on each other's backs."

Harry continued to glare at Wolf, crossing his arms defiantly. "Why?" he asked curiously as he watched Wolf suspiciously.

"Why what?" asked Wolf, confused.

"Why the sudden change? What's the reason for it?" Harry clarified.

Wolf opened his mouth, but remained silent. The blank expression crossed his face as his mouth snapped close with a click. Harry waited for a few moments as Wolf remained silent, staring off into the distance, seemingly completely out of it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," grumbled Harry as he turned his head around, massaging his hurting neck, looking in dread and fear in the direction of Boston.

If I have to…I'll find my own way to my sister. I'll do whatever it takes. I WILL bring back to where she rightfully belongs. With Sirius, Remus, the Weasleys, and Hermione. I will come back to you Hermione. Harry thought determinedly, trying as best as he could to ignore the feeling of dread that his goals were mockingly infeasible, and that his chances of being united with his loved ones were almost non-existent. And yet, despite the situation he found himself in, Harry refused to acknowledge that fact. It was like some part of his being resolutely and stubbornly fought against the mere thought of him failing and not returning back home. It sickened him to no end.

If there is even the slightest possibility that I can find my sister, and return to my family and loved ones then I'll take it. No matter the cost. No matter how much the odds are against me. I will not fail. Harry inhaled deeply, steeling himself to venture the upcoming harsh journey alone when Wolf spoke in his gruff voice, almost breaking as he muttered a single sentence loud enough for Harry to hear.

"I'm sorry."

Without fully turning around, Harry stopped mid-stride, his head tilted ever so slightly as he listened to Wolf speaking with a firm voice, "I know I had been an asshole and for that I apologize, but I was being realistic and I'm trying my best to prepare you for what is to come, because believe me, if you think Portsmouth was a nightmare, wait until we get further down the road because you haven't seen shit about what kind of a fucked up world we're living in."

Does he think I'm not capable of making it to my sister? Harry thought harshly as he turned around, growling angrily, "So you think I have no chance of finding my sister without your help?!"

"Yes," answered Wolf without hesitation, his expression hard as he stared down his protégé, who was ready to shout in fury as he interrupted him with a surprisingly calm tone, "Do you know exactly where your sister is? How to get into the QZ? Do you even know what Boston looks like? Are capable of crossing the kill zone? What of the Infected, the Army, and the Hunters? Do you know how to fight them and are you certain that you can protect yourself and your sister?" Wolf scoffed as Harry blanched at the barrage of questions, coming to the same realization Wolf already knew, "Face it, you don't have a fucking idea and you want to rush in without even thinking, endangering not only yourself, but everyone around you, including your sister? I have seen this too many times, and let me tell you, if you walk down this path you'll be dead before the sun goes down."

Nevertheless, a vicious snarl formed itself upon Harry's face as he glared at Wolf, trying to growl menacingly in a vain effort of spite, "I'll try my luck."

Wolf, realizing that it was now or never, spoke firmly, shooting a burning glare at Harry as he retorted, "I know where your sister is and how to get to her. I'll drop you off and we'll go our separate ways, how does that sound?"

Tense silence filled the air around them as both opponents stared each other down, both unwilling and too stubborn to submit.

Harry's anger, still hot in his veins, abated slightly when he realized that Wolf was indeed correct. What was he thinking? He had killed a man in an alien, hostile world with no clue where he was or what was happening, and what does he want to do? Rush head first into the unknown in a vain attempt to find his sister and a way back home.

What was much more worrying was the lack of empathy he felt for the man he had killed not so long ago. Truth to be told he felt nothing. Not even a slight tinge of sympathy or regret or guilt, just this unexplainable void within him. It sickened, confused, and troubled him greatly. Was he becoming a monster?

No, no, no! Harry thought vigorously, trying to keep his expression in check, but couldn't help but blink numerous times, casting out those horrible thoughts and emotions.

Not again. I will not destroy myself. No. NO. NO! Bury it and be done with it. I will not allow those damned thoughts to destroy me. Bury it. Bury it!

A long, tortured sigh escaped Harry's lips as his shoulders slumped forward, and he shamefully hung his head in defeat. He gritted out begrudgingly between his teeth, "Lead the way."

And there you have it my newest chapter! The Great White is actually inspired or based upon the real event of American Cold wave 2013-2014. I remember sitting on my laptop watching the news and thinking 'what if the Last Of Us Outbreak really happened prior to this terrible cold'? The development of Wolf and Harry really meant something to me and I wanted to get it right, re writing it quite numerous times even restarting this chapter from scratch twice because I wasn'T happy with the result. So Wolf doesn't die HURRAY! I really hope you liked the new chapter. Please comment: how did you like Harry's and Wolf's character development? What do you think of the plot so far? How did you like the background story that is slowly being exposed? And don't worry people Ellie's appearance is imminent maybe next chapter :)? The first Act will only take two more chapters I hope I am not strechting this out for too long if I do please tell me so:).

Read, have fun while doing it, favorite or follow or both but please tell me your opinions I want to talks to you people.

Special thanks too: My Beta Bluesky509, Varigos D. Vastitas and Anla' Shok. Read their stories too they are awesome.