Remark the pond. Its smooth curves as the soft breeze whistles through it. Its reflection of the bitter world and its calmness to such a condition. It changes not even as humans begin to alter. A boy by the name of Wendell, his surname of a remarkable lost country to the east. He is covered from head to toe in thick garments; a mosquito lamp lies to his left, and the pungent odour of insect repellent remains noticeable.

Small green insects with fluttering wings litter the cattail. The area was heavily fenced with robust steel beams erected deep into the nutrient-rich dirt. The rust having already accumulated with time and weather.

The ecosystem, however, remained fresh and healthy like the leaves of the oak trees outside the fencing. In this moment, Wendell is reminded of the honey-sweet nostalgic memories of a time long gone. The days of survival camp with the love of his life. The young woman to whom he never had the courage to confess his feelings. And now it weighs heavy on his conscience. He will likely never see her again in this wretched world.

"Hmm, nothing again huh," thought the boy.

It wasn't the first time this had occurred. He had been out for a few hours and not a single bite. Maybe he should switch bait or change locations. However, this was one of the few areas that were safe to fish. Here, if everything went south, the fencing would still buy him some to carry out his "emergency plan".

Although the results of his sow were sometimes hard to accept, his buddies had it much more difficult. Vishnu and Talia were probably out raiding dilapidated buildings and who knows what else in their isolation. Wendell never liked being alone even though they'd always meet at the end of the day back at camp. He would sometimes get bored too; yes, fishing can be fun and other gathering activities are easier than risking your life but he desired some action. His contributions to the group are without a doubt irreplaceable and yet he feels so distanced from the other two. At times, Wendell would want to have someone join their group but people are hardly trustworthy these days and raids from the inside are definitely the worst.

The boy headed back with his camouflaged backpack full of survival gear. A holster to his right thigh with a loaded revolver in case of a real threat and a black tactical knife. Wendell had been looking for a silencer because the gun sounds really weren't good for his ears and it warranted some unnecessary attention but attachments like that are hard to find in times like these.

Luckily, no unwanted visitors visited and Wendell arrived back at the camp safely through the shortcut in the woods.

"Now then," wondered Wendell, "How are the other two doing?"