"What the hell is all that ruckus?" A ruffled middle aged man rises from his bed, scratching his head, messing up the pitch black hair that resembles a bird's nest.
Putting on his old shoes, he shambles out of his small house to investigate the noise that woke him from his slumber.
He turned the corner and what lay before him was a scene of chaos. Bullet holes, burn marks, and deep scratches litter the land before him. Overturned cars scattered across the road, with smoldering flames illuminating everything with a somber green light. Small bodies could be seen piling out of several cars, causing his eyes to widen and whatever slumber left to vanish from his body.
He bolts across the roads, searching the cars and bodies for any survivors.
To his relief, he found a couple.
To his despair, four of them died in his arms as he gently pulled them out of the ruined cars.
Steeling his heart, he carefully picks up the only three survivors, two girls and a boy, and brings them to his house.
He returns to the scene to bury the bodies, but soon stops as he senses incoming people in the distance.
"The authorities will take care of this." He muttered to himself as he removed evidence of his meddling and hightailed it out.
—
In his small house, he takes a breather as he looks at the three unconscious kids laying on his bed.
It was now that he got a good look at them.
Scrawny, malnourished, covered in scratches. Looking no older than four or five years old, though they might be older, given that their bodies had no room to grow without proper nutrition.
He considered calling the authorities, but something in his gut told him not to do so until the three regain consciousness.
Digging into his closet, he brought out a medkit from his days as a soldier and begins patching up the kids.
Once they were sufficiently bandaged and slathered in ointment, he locks his house and goes on a small shopping spree. The food he had in the fridge was no good to nurse kids back to health. Following the directions of his AI assistant, he picked up groceries to last him and the kids at least a week and a few days.
As he was checking out, he noticed that there was a massive amount of authorities swarming the streets.
"No sense of urgency." He muttered as he watched them move without a care in the world.
Leaving the store, he walked by the scene that was cordoned off, imitating others who were curious at what happened.
"Sigh, another incident, when will they stop?"
"They will never stop, it's how they operate, only us dregs suffer the consequences."
Similar conversations could be heard all around him, causing him to shake his head and leave.
Along the way he was stopped for a few questions from a patrolling officer, but was soon left alone after showing him his status as a veteran and a short statement.
Being able to avoid interacting with nothing but a few short sentences was a boon he greatly enjoyed.
Soon, he returns to his small house after making a small detour to another store to get some inconspicuous herbs.
Unlocking the door and entering, a small feeling of discomfort rises as he cautiously scans the room.
As his eyes settled on the room where he left the kids, a small smile appeared on his face as he set down the groceries and began organizing them into the pantry and fridge.
"Having fun watching me organize stuff?" He asked suddenly as he put the last item into the fridge.
And just as suddenly, a thud echoes from the room as someone falls over backwards.
Chuckling, he heads over to the room and opens the door, only to be greeted by a boy doubled over in agony.
"Well now, that's no way of greeting someone."