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</div><br/><br/><i>There wasn’t any sunlight anymore.</i><br/><br/>Not how it used to be, some quarter century ago. In present times, the day-night cycle alternated between a starless darkness, and a silver twilight. Life was better before the cataclysmic event, the one which ruined the world and brought untold suffering and decay as the world rotted and collapsed into anarchy. One that blotted out the sun, and killed the myriad of ecology and biological life, and drove the teeming mass of humanity from a fragile construct of society into complete chaos and violence in a struggle for scarce resources. Now a deep, dreary cloud hung on the world, suffocating most advanced plant life, wearing down the mood of those few human survivors, driving all joy and cheer from the inhabitants of an once green, bluish gem in the cosmos. Now it was just a pathetic bleakness of grey and brown, a dismal fate for those left to eek out an existence amongst the ruin of a collapsed, starved civilization.<br/><br/>The before-times were gone, where the light had been brighter, and laughter not so rare a thing to hear. Before, when cities that once housed millions were places of bustle and activity, and not crumbling, skeletal ruins to form the tombs of decayed corpses and unwary scavengers. Where once travel had been free and unimpeded except for some bureaucratic nonsense, now every block, every square foot of land could be hotly contested by the tribal groups that arose from the anarchy of the collapse. People were jealous, and possessive, and utterly violent in keeping what they assumed was theirs, so much so that even the possibility of the<i>thought</i>of losing even the slightest inch was akin to the chance of a slow, painful death. No, there could be no friendliness or compassion. On today’s earth, it was as it had been in humanity’s first days as a species; only the survival of the fittest, and most violent.<br/><br/><i>Neverland</i>was one such turf, belonging to a congregation of survivors, some old enough to recall the before-times, and many more who knew nothing else but the post-collapse world.<br/><br/>Those old enough to know were a rare breed, their numbers dwindling, and not just from the violence and anarchy of present times. Despair and sorrow racked their hearts, for only they knew what they had truly lost, and some could not bear to go on, while others clung to life and their old ways. To give in was surrender. It was these sorts who became the new ruling class, empowered by knowledge and customs now gone out from the world. They had to rule with an iron fist, or they would devolve to a state more pitiful than death. To those children who were<i>Lost</i>to the previous fruits and boons of a proud civilization, this older generation was the only line between their advancement to individuals of stature and knowledge, or to fall no different from the predatory beasts of the world, competing for sustenance and territory, however violent or simple.<br/><br/>The settlement was aptly named.<i>Or was it?</i>Never was a word used to strengthen the hearts of the quailing and the doubtful, that they would not go quietly into the dark, or into the pits for execution,<i>or the pots to fill needy bellies in times of desperation.</i>But that ideal was not what gave the name to the rural town in the heartland of a continent, of whom few now recalled the dimensions and geography.<i>A favored story tale of its indomitable leader,</i>who found it morbidly humorous to name his new nightmarish circumstance under such a ridiculous, contrarian label. There was no fantasy or fairy tale ending here, lest it be one of some sick, twisted display of violence.<i>As often occurred in that place.</i><br/><br/>There was an advantage to instill it young in those Lost children who remained, or could be found, or in some twisted miracle<i>born</i>into that world. One could not hesitate, as if in war, for their survival. Terrell “Hook” Bishop was going to make sure his legacy continued. He would mold the edges of that<i>boy</i>until they were razor sharp. He had to be ready when his time came to assume the mantle of leadership, no matter the cost. There was no other way to live.<br/><br/><br/><div class="bbImageWrapper bbImageAligned--left lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://images.fineartamerica.com/images/artworkimages/mediumlarge/1/1-spooky-scary-halloween-dead-forest-landscape-with-foggy-backgrou-matthew-gibson.jpg" title="1-spooky-scary-halloween-dead-forest-landscape-with-foggy-backgrou-matthew-gibson.jpg">
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</div>The sun might have been bright and shining on that summer day, but the bleak, unmoving overcast above only gave proof of it by its silvery radiance. Like a heavy drape had been cast upon the earth, only a smidgen of light made it through this covering to grace the surface. What should have been a hot summer day was now akin to a frosty autumn morning.<i>And that was at best the warmest they might ever feel in a given year.</i>All plant life had withered. Trees never regained their growth, remaining as leafless, rotting carcasses across the region. Grass grew patchy and frail. Only a fungi mushroom, disgusting but nourishing, seemed to grow in any abundance. It was the only sustenance truly available, beyond the rare find of imperishable in cans, or besides the<i>option</i>, that for a remaining few was still considered less dignified than a slow, starving death.<br/><br/>Activity, or<i>sadistic</i>entertainment, was the only way to avoid thinking of rumbling stomachs or the availability of one’s next meal. And together, with his<i>son</i>and his<i>helper</i>, Hook had for them a most pleasant distraction.<br/><br/>Peter, on the other hand, was utterly dismayed by the trek. He walked in the middle, behind his father, ahead of Tinker.<i>Every warning bell in his head told him not to let a trained killer and enforcer walk behind him.</i>But he knew Tinker. Knew her all his life. He wouldn’t say she was like a sister, though she had been brought up in his home under his father since their childhood.<i>No one as ruthless as her could ever be his family.</i>But then, he might wonder how he ended up with a father as ruthless as Hook was.<i>All to survive</i>, they kept telling him.<br/><br/>He wondered what this hike through the ghostly woods was about. Paved roads lead to various other towns and cities, all deserted, or full of watchful, deadly gazes, ready to maim and cannibalize whatever they could get their hands on. Usually they scouted these settlements for dangers, or supplies, but today’s adventure was something else. They never just went into the woods like this. Sometimes there were homes, abandoned farmsteads or estates, but often connected by one of the long stretches of asphalts that apparently used to siphon and hasten the movement of people, before the cataclysmic disaster. Sometimes Peter felt he could just lose himself and follow one…to the very ends of the earth. There was always some treasure at the end of it, he felt.<br/><br/>There was treasure at the end of this adventure too, he just didn’t know it yet.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">“All this used to be green.”</span></b>Hook muttered to himself as he strode in front of the little procession.<i>The cabin was just up ahead.</i>He marveled at how people used to get around with maps and electronic GPS units. Now they just had to remember where things and places were, in what direction, how far, and whether it might be totally deserted…or full of dangers.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(97, 189, 109)">“I like green.”</span></b>Peter commented, never knowing when his dad was talking to himself or talking to them.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">“Tinker likes green too.”</span></b>Hook said without looking back, smiling to himself. She had that nickname from him because…she wore a little green dress, their first night. It had been so apt.<br/><br/>In the shade and fog ahead, the outline of the structure could be glimpsed ahead. He wondered how<i>she</i>was doing, if<i>she</i>was lonely, or perhaps others might have come and stumbled upon a prize that wasn’t theirs. Hook paused by a tree that overlooked the grounds and turned to face his two companions, both young, and neither remembering or even knowing what life was like…before.<br/><br/>No, for them, it was only how to survive. And the best way to survive…was to kill the humanity inside them. Pity and empathy brought hesitation and doubt, all of which could get one killed. There was no time for such niceties. His son still had some soft spots to him.<i>He got that from his mother, naturally.</i>He needed the boy to learn, to give up being a lost child, and become a force to be reckoned with. He did it with Tinker, whom he thought would be more difficult on account of her gender, but it was proving to be otherwise. Peter…also had his father’s force of will. At least when he put his mind to something.<i>Which was rarely.</i>He was a dreamer.<br/><br/>Well, all boys his age usually had a dream.<i>Deviant dreams, of lust and desire.</i>Hook had a gift for Peter, one that would help fulfill those dreams, and also kill the boy in him. Peter was nineteen now. It wasn’t like before, where chances of it coming naturally could be had. These days, there was only one way to do things. That was to take it. By force. He brought Tinker along too, to help with that, being a trained and completed pupil. She would help bridge the gap between what Hook wanted Peter to be…and what Peter was at this moment. Someone his age should help make things more understandable.<br/><br/>After a brief reconnoitre of the grounds, Hook judged it safe, and untouched, from his previous visit yesterday.<i>Where they dropped her off.</i><br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">“Come on.”</span></b>Hook finally said and they could approach the cabin. It was a modest building. A single floor, opening up to a deserted common area with a kitchen and living space, with a bedroom and bathroom at the rear. Must have been a hunting lodge of some kind, for some rich person, when there had actually been something to hunt…and money that held meaning. Now there was neither, except the survivors, and what they could hunt.<i>Each other.</i><br/><br/>Hook found a survivor. He planned to make use of<i>her</i>.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">“This way.”</span></b>He gestured as they entered the building, not even giving Peter a chance to look around with his…damnable curiosity.<i>To look under every stone, around every corner, in every drawer and dresser and…</i><br/><br/>He walked to the bedroom door, closed, and put his hand on the handle.<i>She</i>was waiting beyond, trussed and spread like Sunday dinner.<i>Who knew what day it was now.</i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)"><b>“Peter…we’ve talked long about your…graduation prize, from child to young man. What I’m about to give you will be the culmination of any and all desires you might have. Use what I will give you now. Amuse yourself. <i>Learn</i> about yourself. Today…you will have a taste of power like no other.”</b></span>Hook smiled at Peter, raising a thumb to brush the corner of his moustache. Then he threw the door open and stood aside, letting Peter look from him…to inside.<br/><br/>There<i>she</i>would be, upon the bed in the dim light, left here for a period of twelve hours to stew and fret. There<i>she</i>lay, hands bound above her head, and her ankles trussed together. She would have been stripped, to her undergarment and a simple top. A pretty little prize.<br/><br/>A pretty little girl.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">"Go on, she's all yours."</span></b>Hook said to Peter, glancing back to Tinker.<i>And you’re going to stay with him, and make sure he learns to put this gift to good use.</i>To play, to torment,<i>to fuck</i>, he hoped Peter would test and discover himself, to gain the education and awareness, of what it meant to be<i>powerful</i>. Because if he could do that, then he would try his hardest never to feel<i>powerless</i>, and not fall to agony and death in this apocalyptic world they now lived in. Peter will steel himself…with this girl’s blood.<br/><br/>That is what Hook wanted. And presumed. But he could not read his son’s mind, who stepped into the room and gazed with astonishment at the girl on the bed. He…had never met another woman his age, let alone seen one. There was Tinker, but she was his father’s pet. This was to be…his? But no design or plan ever survived contact with the enemy, as it was said before, and when Peter beheld her for the first time…he thought she was beautiful.<i>And precious.</i><br/><br/>And he knew in his heart of hearts...that he wanted her.<i>His way.</i><br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(184, 49, 47)">“Introduce yourself, girl.”</span></b>Hook barked at the captive.