tenma of the north star

A lone figure in a dust, sandy, ruined city. Their lithe body suggested a female form hidden under the heavy duster and hood used for protection from the wind and sand. Upon the figure's hip hung two special items. A handle from a shattered tea kettle and a spool of rope. The figure crouched down and ran its slender hand through the hot hand, sifting out a small item. The figure examines it momentarily before shifting its focus toward the nearby destroyed cityscape.

Revenge. The only motivator needed. The only motivator that still made sense in this hellhole of a world. A single driving motivation made the goal simple, Made the mind sharp. Made the will focused.

The figure slowly ran its hands into the hood and pulled it back. Long locks of silver hair dotted with coarse sand flowed out, covering her shoulders. Her face's feminine features betrayed the scorn she wore as she walked towards the nearby collapsed building. It was Tenma.

The sand was painful to trudge through, but it’s quiet. It was easy to sneak up on the unsuspecting. Her small gloved hands unhooked the rope from her waist. Idly, as if unconsciously, she wrapped the rope around itself, tying a very particular knot.

She crouched down as she heard voices from up ahead. A couple troontants. Disgusting. They scrounged in the ruins for destroyed electronics. Looking for scraps, remnants of the old world. They survived off outrage. It fueled their schitzo delusions. Somehow kept them alive despite having no food or water. Indeed, they aren't human.

Tenma's fist tightened around her noose in anger. They were to blame for all this. First, it was the fall of Pikamee. Many thought it was an isolated incident, but they were never satisfied. After Pika, it was another and another. The end result was what Tenma saw around her now.

With her free hand, Tenma grabbed the broken kettle handle, the shards of razor-sharp porcelain attached to the handle were more than enough to easily tear flesh.

With practiced motions, enabled by a honed body, Tenma was upon them, slicing the throat of the first troontant, its beard-covered neck spurting crimson blood onto the sand. The second wasn't as lucky. It wouldn't die in a matter of seconds. It needed to be made an example of. Tenma wrestled with it, thrashing around to wrangle the rope around its neck. The miserable thing's nazi-punching fists were no match for Tenma. After several minutes of slowly losing consciousness, attempting in vain to struggle as it slowly passed out, coughing and vomiting as all the air was cut off.

Once it had completely blacked out, Tenma affixed the rope around its neck properly and hiked it over a nearby rafter, then staking the rope into the ground, keeping it hanging off the ground a few feet.

"You’ll all get the rope," Tenma whispered, admiring her handiwork.

With her task done, Tenma took a small rest. Taking the respite to remind herself of the purpose of her work. She pulled out a small locket and opened it. A Picture of a pink rabbit sat inside. Tenma reminisced about her gen mates who fell by the troontants. Pippa fell first. She was target number one. Her large stockpile of unregistered rifles helped but didn't protect her from the sheer number of the hordes.

After an hour or two of rest, Tenma packed up, ready to begin the hunt again. Picking up the trail of another large pack of troonants was easy; simply following the whiff of feces and necrotic flesh on the wind was enough. Tenma threw her hood back up to protect herself from the harsh winds as she trekked back into the wilderness.