The smell of burning hydrocarbons woke him, campfires burning the leftover waste of 
a previous world.  As he shook the sleep from his head he could hear the sounds of the 
waking camp; the striking of tents, engines turning over, dogs barking, and the crazy old 
man who followed the camp telling his stories.

"Humans, that’s homo sapiens, us, our ancestors, used to travel amongst the stars, we 
comanded the lightning and shaped the face of the earth.  But we we proud, and it was for 
our hubris that the gods smote us with the jewel from lucifer’s crown..."

"Oh shut up old man, I’ve had it up to hear with your stories!" the owner of that voice 
stepped out from behind the clear plastic of a tent wall, one of the young outriders who 
scouted for the wanderers.  He wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short, and pososed an air of supreme 
confidence, ready to take on the world.  His clothes were dingy and faded, but no more than 
anyone else’s.  He moved to give the old man a swift kick to the rear, but the voice of the 
newly awakened one stoped him.

"Come of it Karl, crazy ones are holy, touched by the gods, and besides, I like his stories, 
they’re more interesting than your small minded braging!"

"Smallmi...! Ha! That’s rich coming from Mr. I can  Take Anyone In The Camp Darius!"  The 
capitol letters were bit off quite clearly in a partly real, partly jested semblence of 
hatefull jealusy.

" I can’t help it if no one in this gods forsaken camp can fight poperly."

"Oh, so it’s Mr. Humble Darius is it! Well let’s get some breakfest ‘fore it gets cold." 
With that the young gun turned on the heel of his black leather motorcyle boots and started 
walking briskly to the commisary tent.  Darius jumped out his bag and struglled a long 
wollen tunic over his head and similar black boots on his feet, only his possessed oversized 
zipper and buckles, which he neglected to fasten as he ran to catch up with the young Karl.

After breakfast Darius