Hello, everybody! Okay, so this story has been a long time in the planning, has gone through many revisions in its early stages, and only just now do I feel confident enough to start writing it! I'm not sure how long or short it will be, and in fact if it doesn't seem to get much interest, it might be a one chapter thing only. But I can tell you it will be unlike anything I have ever written. It's set in 2067, and France has undergone the Apocalypse. The rest you will find out through the story. I hope you all enjoy this fanfic, and come along for the ride that I don't even have a 100% plan for yet. Thank you for your bravery and support for embarking on this journey with me!

If you follow me on Tumblr, you'll know I posted some outfits I made specifically for Post Apocalyptic Amis a few days ago. I tried to link them on this page, but the site wouldn't let me do so. So! If you all are interested, I'm thinking I might make a whole tiny little side blog that just goes along with this fan fiction. It will include images that inspire me for this story, music that inspires me, my head canons for what the characters look like, and any authors notes that I don't have time to post here. If you're interested in that, PLEASE let me know in the reviews!

Alright! Well without any further ado, come with me to 2067 France. Grab your weapons and helmets. This is going to be a hard ride.

Disclaimer: I only own the story and any OC's that I make up. "Les Miserables" and it's characters belong to Victor Hugo.

~Rosey

THE END.

Chapter One: HOW THE WORLD ENDED

The Apocalypse came quietly, in the night.

Nobody expected the end of the world to come as it did. Because it didn't really end. It just… Fell apart. Like a knot that was tied into a perfect bow and then was tugged apart with one yank. Everybody went to bed in a peaceful and beautiful France, full of lights and soft music and the hum of cars and people talking.

They woke up to the Apocalypse.

Buildings fallen to ruin in seeming silence. Roads upturned. The sky turned a light brown by all the dirt and rubble and destruction. Random citizens executed and tossed into the streets.

Later that morning, the Announcement was made. Latour, in his dark black coat and goatee and icy blue eyes, appeared on every television screen across France. Every radio station played his words. Every program was stopped and his voice was broadcasted across the country in its stoic coldness.

"Citizens of France, we are in a very difficult time. Your leader, Jacques Sebastian, has been killed in this destruction. I will be taking over his place. I will be rebuilding France. I will be your leader, and you will do as I say. There is a 10 P.M. curfew. Anybody who does not obey will be arrested on sight. All schooling will be carefully monitored, to ensure that all our citizens are being taught what they should be to rebuild our nation. Everyone will work in a factory assigned to you to rebuild this city. Everyone will be given a number, and they will learn to answer to it. Nobody will…"

And so it went on.

It did not take a full day for the citizens to figure it out. It was Latour and his Guard that destroyed France. Though nobody knew how he did it, they knew he did. He destroyed it so that the citizens would be at his full mercy to rebuild it.

He made special broadcasts for international reports, making it seem as if France had not changed at all. He projected images of a normal France above the dirty sky, too high for the citizens to see, but low enough that passing airplanes would see what they always had passing over the city. Tourists were told that France was undergoing great technological change, and would not be taking outside guests for a while to make sure everything was safe for visitors but oh, when it's open again the changes will be magnificent. To the world, France was thriving normally and even better than before.

In reality, it was dying.

This all began five years ago.

Citizen #79183, Julien Enjolras, turned his head to cough into the sleeve of his jacket, dirt from the debris surrounding him billowing up as he walked, going into his nose and lungs. His messy blond curls fell into his darkly circled eyes, his other-wordly beautiful face covered in a thin layer of grime, as were his clothes and boots. He reached a hand into his satchel, feeling a little anxiously for his hand gun, relaxing again when he felt the cool metal against his hot skin. Good. Good. Safe.

He continued to make his way along the beaten, crumbling path, glancing instinctually over his shoulder every five steps or so. When a gust of wind blew harshly and cold over the landscape, causing a loose piece of debris to fall to the ground, Enjolras spun around on his heel, his hand going to the gun again, his heart racing wildly and his eyes wide and alert. He stood there, statue-still, for a good seven minutes before he felt it safe to start moving again, looking out through the gloom for the Door. For that ever-so-faint line of light that, unless you were looking for it, you would miss. Thankfully.

In the darkness, Enjolras became more and more aware of the rapid breaths escaping his lips. Of the constant anxiety in his chest that he had grown accustomed to. He wished he had walked to the meeting tonight with Combeferre, but the medical student had been forced to work later than usual at the Factory, and so Julien was on his own. Julien hated being on his own. Especially now.

When the thin slip of light finally made itself seen before Enjolras, he took a deep, relieved breath and hurried towards it, keeping his head tucked low, the red hood of his jacket pulled up over his head and casting a shadow across his eyes. He turned over the board, slipped inside the small tunnel, pushed his way through an almost too-small door...

And stepped into the Cafe Musain.

When the Apocalypse came, the Musain had been buried under a pile of rubble, caving in part of the roof, but otherwise not damaging the small cafe that had been thriving with activity five years ago. Somehow, the cafe had survived, and now Les Amis met there nearly daily, just as they used to. The only difference? Going there used to be a social event, full of laughter and hope. Now, it was secretive, dangerous, and nobody dare speak above a whisper.

Tonight, the entirety of Les Amis were at the meeting. Except for one. Courfeyrac, Joly, Jehan, Bossuet, Feuilly, and Bahorel sat at a far table, talking in low whispers about the Event. Grantaire sat in a corner, sipping from a bottle as per usual, making Enjolras's stomach twist with disgust. Combeferre seemed to have managed to get off early to get to the Musain before Julien, and he sat at a table near the door, gesturing for his dear friend to come sit with him. Eponine, Musichetta, and Cosette sat at the third and final table, and Eponine and Musichetta were busy helping Cosette keep her eyes dry and her chin high. Because that's why they were meeting tonight. Cosette's fiancé, and the group's dear friend, Marius Pontmercy was dead.

The death had happened two days ago, when Enjolras and Marius had been walking back from the Factory. One of the Guard members had decided the duo looked like a good target, and Enjolras had been knocked unconscious, and Marius, killed. When Enjolras awoke, a knot on his head and blood in his mouth, he turned to see where Marius was.

When he saw Marius was dead, and all that red, that red that was darker than his hoodie, that red that was everywhere, he lost consciousness for another ten minutes. He would never admit it. Not even to Combeferre.

The meeting was to be an unofficial funeral for Marius Pontmercy. Since his body was taken away by the government, they would never get to officially say good-bye. So this was the best they had.

I cannot nor should I try to put into words the feeling in the air through the meeting, or the eulogies that were spoken, or the tears that Cosette (and several of the Amis) could not keep back. It would not do Marius justice. It would not do the Amis and their deep love for each other justice. It would not do any of this justice, so I will try and just put it into one word.

Grief.

Grief so thick and heavy it weighed on all the Amis like a bullet proof blanket. If only there was such a thing as a grief-proof blanket. There is not.

"Marius's death will not go unanswered," Enjolras whispered under his breath to Combeferre as the two hurried back towards their flat, trying to make it home before the curfew. Puffs of cloud escaped Enjolras's lips as he spoke, signaling how cold it had gotten. "We will avenge him. We will avenge all the deaths from these past five years. The revolution will come."

"Julien, keep your voice down," Combeferre hissed warningly. "Do you want to be shot? Or worse… Taken?"

Enjolras said nothing, shoving his hands into his pockets, knowing his friend was right, but not wanting to admit it. Etienne put a gentle hand on Enjolras's back as they walked, keeping a sharp eye out for any suspicious movements.

Enjolras also had his eyes peeled. And since the attack he was more… On edge.

It was when a stray dog, emancipated and weak, crept behind a wall and made a flash of movement, that Enjolras broke. He let out a shout and yanked out the gun from his bag, aiming it in the direction of the moving shadow, shaking and eyes wide. Combeferre quickly pulled the gun from his friend's hand, hiding it under his coat, taking Enjolras's face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together, desperate to stop the panic attack gripping his younger friend. "Julien! Julien, it's okay! We're safe, it was just a dog! We're safe. Breathe. Breathe."

The Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder had taken a harsh grip on the young blond since Marius's death, but Julien managed to keep it under control almost every moment of the day. Only when he was with his dearest friend, when his walls were down anyway, did the panic grip him. And now was no exception. He trembled in Combeferre's grip, gasping for breath, eyes wide and terrified. Combeferre continued to whisper gentle reassurances to his friend until Enjolras's breathing finally evened out, and even then the older boy kept his forehead pressed to that of Julien's. "You're okay. It's okay. We're okay. We're safe."

Combeferre was lying.

They were never safe.

To be continued.

Alright. So. I am feeling quite drained and also quite excited. I have no idea where this story will go really, and that makes it all the more exciting. I have many plot points planned out, but they have to have things happen in between them, now don't they?

So, please, please, please let me know if you want me to continue this, what you thought of the opening, and what all you would like to see in the story. I'm sorry to all Marius fans out there… Sad isn't it? The usual survivor is the first to go. But he had to for the story to go where I want it to.

Please, please review! It would mean the world to me. And honestly, if I don't get enough feed back, I might not update this one for a while because of all the other works I have going. Let me know what you all want! And do you want that Tumblr page?

Stay revolutionary!

~Rosey