Peter walked around an empty department store. He could smell so many rotten foods around him. The world had gone into chaos a couple of months ago. Peter had found himself alone, afraid, and weak after a large outbreak of a purge had happened. The government had no way to stop it, and eventually, everybody had either died or had disappeared. Besides him, of course. Peter learned little of what happened while he was in hiding. All he knew was that everybody was fighting for political reasons, and people were dying. Peter never understood politics, in fact, he didn't do very well in school. The only way he humored himself now was by telling himself he was the smartest man in the world, but this only led to him slowly becoming depressed about the fact he was the only man in the world.

He pulled cans off the shelf, anything that wasn't expired, and put them into his small tye-dye tote bag. Peter's hair was ratty, brown, and relatively long. Peter was 15 years old. He wore tattered jeans and a black T-shirt that was too big for him. He didn't see any point in taking the nice-looking clothes anymore, since he had no one to impress. He wore a facial mask, too. A bright blue mask that went over his mouth and nose, that kept him from inhaling anything toxic he might be around.

Peter left the store, having everything he needed. His shirt flowed in the wind, making him cold. He shivered a little and sat on a semi-broken bench. It fell as soon as he sat on it, so his bottom hit the hard concrete. "Just my luck," he grumbled. His voice was dark, deep, but also sounded kind in a way. He had a splash of freckles on his face, yet his skin was sickly pale.

Peter has nowhere to go except home, so that is where he went next.