EXT. CITY – NIGHT

The buildings are in ruins.

A CROWD huddles together whispering, while the stars smile indifferently overhead. Trying to comfort the crying one.

WOMAN 1
Don't worry. Our boys will be here soon.

MAN 1
They'll save us, you see.

MAN 2
They'll never give in.

Other than the whispering, it's quiet. Nobody wants to admit, to realize.

The fighting's stopped hours ago.

A breath of wind flutters a poster on the wall briefly, stirs the branches of a burnt tree; in its last grasp it almost seems to reach up to the heavens.

And with a whisper, circles of light glint on in the distance. Voices – the rolling of wheels – the crunching of boots – slowly they scan the ground, scan the ruins walls, approach the huddled mass. And all fall silent as they look up at them.

Reapers.

They stand there in black, listening a moment to orders. Then weave noiselessly through the crowd, stopping only to shine flashlight on faces that struggle to hide. Every once in a while pulling somebody up and taking him with them.

And after they've gathered them, they move away.

WOMAN 2
Why are you doing this?

But there's no answer – there never is.

Only the Wall.

And gunshots that ring out through dark night.