Your Character's Name: Calvin

Those dear friends of mine have a thing or two to learn about this world. I free them and bring them into this dead world and no matter how many times I tell them that this is a dangerous place they run off acting like I said nothing. It is horrendous to feel like a parent to people your own age, I once thought of them as brother and sister, not as children. Sanding out of the way by some twenty or so feet Calvin watched as Bartre wandered around this abandoned barn kicking things over and finding different points to test the vocals in this place. There was no spot that yielded the compliment to his voice. Calvin chuckled at the thought of it. He glanced at Cupid, he doesn’t remember her any differently, when they were kids it was always this compulsion when it came to technology. A few broken Gameboys and old Telescreens, she was always tinkering with something. Apparently she had moved to the chemistry of it all later on. Must’ve been after I left, he thought, or maybe I never paid enough attention to what she was actually doing. Running my gigs as though I had a mystery to solve, albeit I did. But I probably could have been more of a friend, why do they trust me so much.
A loud noise broke the pre-show silence that Bartre was building as he stood where the loft once did. It was a mechanized whirring along with some sort of fizzle and clanging. This must be what electricity sounded like.
“That sounded oddly familiar…” Calvin spoke with airy reminiscence.
“What the sound of a gas-powered electrical power generator with a bad starter, and low quality gasoline?” Cupid queried then continued rambling off. “At least it would imply that…”
“Hark! What have ye there?” Bartre shouted from his make-shift stage as he ran down to the generators that Cue was working on. He was examining what she was doing and doing a mock reenactment, but managed to start another one up. The boom and clang that followed stirred enough attention to the now faintly glowing and shaking barn... in the middle of nowhere... at night. Disturbed by the sounds and lights, Calvin marched out of the busted front doors and peered through the darkness. The night air was cold and crisp and fresh, it was enlightening and relaxing. It was somewhere near sunrise because the grass carried the weight of the dew drops. Calvin always had wondered why this phenomenon occurred. Perhaps if we continue to stride forward we can restore the world and learn more about it and why these things happen. The thought was nice, but he felt it was a hopeless cause. Even back when he was with the Curators he still thought these things were wasteful. The idea of a future was an enriching one that Calvin wished he could believe in. Much like gods and arts, he thought they would be nice if he could believe in them. The only thing that ever changed that about him was now gone again. And that was when it struck him. The night when he lost it all, it was raining and there was a rumbling outside.
Calvin stared off in the woods and saw some creature fleeing away from the lights and commotion at the barn. “Good idea,” he chuckled to himself. But he continued to uphold watch while the others meddled with the lost tech and played Shakespeare. And Calvin attempted once again for the thousandth time to reconstruct the events of the last two months. How he came here in the middle of the wastelands with two foolish friends, brilliant and talented, but foolish. I wish more than anything I could show them how cruel this world is before they get the chance to see its few lost wonders. Maybe then they wouldn’t be beaten down and hopeless, if only they could be prepared.
Calvin paced around the barn, he divulged the information to himself over and over again. The clarity of talking to oneself was easier to understand once you do it. “Okay, two months ago my home was struck, there was a loud bang and then a crackle and a pop. Shortly thereafter there were flames; from the western side of my wooden shanty. The smoke covered everything. They told me it was an attack from the Horsemen; they said that they were randomly sacking the housing area of the Museum. But there was something odd about the method. The fire wasn’t standard for their attacks, yes they burn but first they pillage.” The generators clanged again before they shut down. “The sound of the generators, that was what I heard, it was electrical powering!” Calvin was pacing around the front of the barn talking apparently to his crossbow. “The Horsemen don’t use electrically powered weapons. That means that it couldn’t have been them, so my suspicions were correct, they lied to me, my own people lied to me…”
As Bartre and Cupid approached the front of the barn discussing the transporting of the fuel and possibly the generators they neglected to here hope fall from their old friend’s mouth.
Bordeaux could still be alive.”