Sam Hale

"I guess it's time to get ready for that horrible job again," a man said as he stood up from the bed, glancing at the clock on the wall across the room.

"Oh, shoot! I'm late," he shouted, quickly jumping off his worn-out bed. The bed's wooden supports were completely spoiled and cracked, looking like they could give way any moment.

If the bed seemed bad, the apartment was even worse. Fading wall colors, a ceiling with holes that rats wandered through, and crooked, outdated shelves and cabinets filled the place. The television looked like it belonged to another century.

The man rushed to the bathroom, forgetting about the wet floor, and tripped, falling flat on his back.

"Ahh!" he screamed in pain, clutching his now sore back, trying to alleviate the pain.

"I think I need an ice pack, but there's no time. If I'm late again, they might fire me from my only job," he said, recalling the frequent warnings from his boss. This job was his lifeline, and finding another one, especially in this chaotic period, wouldn't be easy.

Despite the pain, he stood up, continuing his bath. Living the life of someone who couldn't afford much, at least taking a bath made him feel a bit richer.

The man, named Sam, struggled to survive in the now-ruined world, trapped by the supposed heroes turned rulers who had become the world's nemesis.

The so-called heroes were once individuals defending Earth from alien invaders attracted to its lush greenery and abundant resources. These champions, renowned for their bravery, risked their lives to defeat the invaders and ultimately succeeded.

These champions possessed ancient powers of extraordinary abilities, capable of causing destruction. Initially, when their existence became known, humans viewed them as potential threats to the planet and sought to eliminate them. Forced into hiding, the champions disappeared from sight.

However, when Earth faced another alien threat, the champions emerged from hiding to aid once more. After saving the planet, they shifted their focus to Earth, easily asserting control over it according to their desires.

This was their revenge for being hunted, and they didn't harm humans, considering it a misunderstanding. Frustrated, they had no qualms about taking charge this time. Humans, unable to defend themselves, found their weapons useless; missiles were deflected with ease, and bullets couldn't penetrate the champions' skin.

These champions represented a superior version of humanity, ten times more advanced.

Sam nursed an enduring hatred for the champions, a venom that refused to wane. The skirmish with them exacted a toll that stripped him of everything—his family and the idyllic life that once defined him. In his thirties, Sam reveled in a stable existence: a devoted wife, a seven-year-old daughter, and a job that brought fulfillment. Yet, the champions' war disrupted it all.

The loss of his family condemned Sam to a relentless state of anguish, an abyss from which he couldn't escape. Despite the overwhelming pain, he clung to life, tethered by a solemn promise made to his wife in her final moments—an oath to persist even after their tragic demise.

Under the cold water from the rusty showerhead, Sam discarded his pajamas. With closed eyes, he let the water cascade over him, lost in a sea of contemplation.

'They perished because of me. I failed them when they needed me most,' Sam ruminated, tears mingling with the shower's stream on his skin. 'It was the champions, those wretched beings. I yearn for the power to bring them to an end, to make them suffer for the anguish they've wrought.'

For years, Sam's anger had festered, the flames of his hatred burning hotter than any furnace.

Sam hastily freshened up, donning a white shirt with a slightly doll-like appearance and a black trouser crafted from cheap fabric. Casting a glance at the mirror, poorly hung and cracked with a fist-shaped hole and remnants of dried blood, the visible trauma spoke volumes. This broken mirror was a testament to the moments when Sam, overwhelmed by the thoughts of his wife and daughter's death, had lost control and unleashed his anger upon it.

Despite the mirror's haunting reminder, Sam remained indifferent, effortlessly fixing himself up. At thirty-seven, he wore his unkempt hair cascading over his shoulders, covering a face that had seen recent respite from a clean shave, prompted by his boss's disdain for an unruly beard. His simple face carried the weight of dark eyes, marked by persistent circles beneath – likely a result of tears and sleepless nights. In his own assessment, Sam fell into the realm of averageness, neither handsome nor ugly.

Casually securing his hair with a rubber band, Sam exposed his face, revealing the weariness etched into his features. With a simple yet expressive countenance, he opened the crooked front door of his apartment, walking out without bothering to lock it. In his mind, someone with nothing to lose had little reason to fear theft.

As he stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the stale air of his apartment building gave way to the reality of the outside world. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead barely illuminated the worn-out carpet beneath his feet. Sam descended the creaking stairs, each step echoing the disrepair of the building.

The external world mirrored the decay within. The neighborhood bore the scars of a forgotten era, with buildings wearing the cloak of neglect. Sam blended into this desolation, becoming just another figure navigating the ruins. Each footstep echoed the weight of his past, a past that clung to him like a persistent shadow.

The night's moonlight struggled to pierce through the layers of smog that hung in the air, casting a somber hue over the surroundings. Sam's destination, a workplace that offered no solace, loomed ahead. He pressed forward, a silhouette against the backdrop of a city consumed by its own wreckage, his presence a reflection of a life dismantled by the champions' malevolence.

Into the night, Sam ambled through the streets, his gaze fixed downward, paying little attention to his surroundings as he lazily made his way to his workplace. In this desolate area, some buildings lay in ruins, remnants of the devastation brought upon the world by the champions. Remarkably, the building that housed Sam's apartment had weathered the storm and stood defiantly amidst the aftermath of Earth's conquest by the champions.

This place, with its standing structures and threadbare existence, represented one of the few affordable options for those who survived the war that humanity had lost.

In the wake of the champions' triumph, Earth was divided into five parts, labeled as tier cities, ranging from tier five to one. Each tier marked a gradient of wealth and power. The fifth tier, where Sam resided, housed those who could barely afford anything – a stark representation of the impoverished. As one ascended through the tiers, wealth and influence increased. The champions had established their dominion over the world, imposing their rules upon all who dwelled within it. The once-diverse tapestry of human civilization now conformed to the rigid structure dictated by those who had claimed victory.

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