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The Plague of Solitude

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Tyadkins Since: Mar, 2025
#1: Jun 4th 2025 at 6:29:47 AM

The Plague of Solitude

Jake Anderson was just sixteen when the world went to shit. No one knew exactly how it started - some said it was a government experiment gone wrong, others blamed it on aliens or divine retribution. All Jake knew was that one day, people started getting sick, and then they started dying.

The plague spread like wildfire, decimating entire cities in a matter of weeks. Jake's small town of Millbrook wasn't spared. He watched helplessly as his parents succumbed to the disease, their bodies ravaged by fever and boils.

"Fuck this," Jake muttered, kicking at the rubble-strewn street. His girlfriend, Sarah, squeezed his hand.

"We'll get through this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We have to."

Jake nodded, but deep down, he wasn't so sure. He had always been the golden boy - star quarterback, straight-A student, the kind of kid everyone thought was destined for greatness. Now, he was just another survivor, scraping by in a world that had gone mad.

As the weeks turned into months, Jake and a small group of survivors banded together for protection. Their leader was a gruff ex-military man named Hank, who wore a constant scowl beneath his ever-present camouflage cap.

"First rule of survival," Hank barked, adjusting his cap for the hundredth time that day. "Always keep your head covered. You never know what kind of shit might fall from the sky in this godforsaken world."

Jake rolled his eyes at Hank's paranoia, but he couldn't deny that the man had kept them alive so far. Still, tensions were growing within the group, and Jake found himself butting heads with Hank more and more often.

"We need to move," Jake argued during one particularly heated debate. "The food's running out, and we're sitting ducks here."

Hank's face turned red with anger. "Listen here, you little shit. I've been keeping your ass alive while you've been playing house with your girlfriend. You don't know jack about survival."

The argument escalated, and before Jake knew what was happening, fists were flying. In the heat of the moment, Jake's hand closed around a jagged piece of metal. He lashed out, and Hank's eyes widened in shock as the makeshift weapon found its mark. The older man stumbled backward, blood blossoming across his chest, before collapsing to the ground.

"Oh God," Jake whispered, staring at his bloodstained hands. "What have I done?"

The group was in chaos after Hank's death, but they had no choice but to move on. Jake took on a leadership role, his guilt driving him to protect the others at all costs. But fate had other plans.

As they traveled, they encountered other survivors who spoke of rumors - whispers that the plague wasn't natural, but a man-made weapon that had spiraled out of control. Jake's blood ran cold at the thought of such senseless destruction.

Then, the unthinkable happened. Sarah fell ill.

"No, no, no," Jake muttered, cradling her fevered body. "Not you too. Please, God, not you."

But his prayers went unanswered. Sarah died in his arms, her last words a whispered "I love you."

Jake waited for the symptoms to take hold, for the fever and boils that would signal his own demise. But they never came. Days passed, then weeks, and Jake remained healthy while others around him succumbed to the disease.

"Why?" he screamed at the uncaring sky. "Why am I still alive when everyone I love is gone?"

As the years passed, Jake's sanity began to fray. He became reckless, taking unnecessary risks and lashing out at the slightest provocation. His best friend, Mike, watched with growing concern.

"Jake, man, you need to calm down," Mike pleaded after Jake nearly got them killed during a supply run. "You're going to get us all killed if you keep this up."

But Jake was beyond reason. He had taken to wearing all black, with a tattered red bandana tied around his arm - a grim reminder of the blood on his hands. His eyes, once bright with hope, now burned with a dangerous intensity.

The final straw came when Jake suggested raiding a nearby settlement, despite knowing there were children there.

"We need the supplies," Jake argued, his voice cold and detached. "It's us or them."

Mike stood his ground. "No, Jake. This isn't you. We don't hurt innocent people. We're better than that."

Jake's face twisted with rage. "Better? There's no such thing as 'better' anymore. There's only survival."

The two men faced off, years of friendship crumbling in an instant. Mike, always the bigger and stronger of the two, moved to restrain Jake. But Jake, fueled by madness and grief, was quicker. The knife found its mark, and Mike's eyes widened in disbelief as he fell.

"Jake..." Mike gasped, his voice thick with pain and sorrow. "What happened to you?"

As the light faded from his friend's eyes, Jake felt the last shred of his humanity slip away. He fell to his knees, a guttural scream tearing from his throat.

Years later, a man stood alone on a hilltop, surveying the wasteland below. His hair was streaked with gray, his face lined with the weight of countless sorrows. Jake Anderson, once a bright-eyed teenager full of promise, was now a shell of a man.

He had survived, yes. But at what cost? Everyone he had ever loved was gone, and his hands were stained with the blood of friend and foe alike. As he watched the sun set on another day in this broken world, Jake wished, not for the first time, that he had died alongside his loved ones all those years ago.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked back into the gathering darkness, a solitary figure in a world that had long since lost its humanity.

Tropes Selected: Tragic Hero, Starter Villain, Unspecified Apocalypse, Big Guy Fatality Syndrome, Synthetic Plague, Never Bareheaded, Red and Black and Evil All Over

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