So I am ready to start a new fiction, which is a timeline or an Alternative Universe rarely tackled or written in the world of Les Miserables; an apocalyptic universe. I am really really anxious to start this thing as I will need all the support I can get. As for now, my schedule is real free but I still have school, which is why I might update once a week, and all. Sooo, without further ado, I present to you: Breathless.

Prologue:

Five years ago, the flower stood, unharmed, waving, and unwavering. The way they blossomed from winter through spring; was the bright transition of cold warming. The grasses were unblemished and pure, innocence remained in them as they stood tall and proud. Everyone feasted in joy and in gladness as the wind gusted through the circle of the merry civilization. It was almost Eden on earth. Priscilla was known for this.

Even in calamity, they shone amidst all. Even in a little while, the earth stood still, and then the whole earth bent. To the sway of gravity upon its rotation and revolve. The way stars brimmed with heat and fire, the way comet fell with their tails ever shimmering in pride. Priscilla was known for the way she stood high and proud.

But in the worst adversity, where humanity can just withstand so much, it brings out the darkness in human hearts. Because then, these perils only have this beauty: that they bring to light the fraternity of strangers. The government, institution, civilization, society, friends, and family that you thought you knew; will vanish from the twilight and shun you, leaving you alone.

It was when the Vino Venenum Virus (also known as the V2 virus) plagued civilization, and plunged them into ruins. The V2 virus, contrary to popular belief however, does not animate the dead, but annihilates the living's sanity, turning them into a carcass of what they once were, no, not a carcass of what they once were; but a hideous abomination of what they once were. The Vivmorts.

Until you're nothing compared to what you once were, which now is lifeless, broken, and breathless.

Chapter 1: Burgh De Rott

A hiss emerged out of Éponine's chapped lips as she poured out brandy towards her scraped-up blistered flesh, searing through and cleansing the dark-crimson blemish before it could infect further. "To hell with those Vivmorts," she gritted her teeth and cursed through the pain. Antiseptic supply was very vague that she had to use brandy in exchange, but that's what the Tribulation emerges from someone: creativity and resourcefulness at times where they fight tooth and nail for their life.

Living alone in a safe house was never easy. Every now and then, thought-provoking events tempt you on going to Rue de la Chanvevrie, where the wretched, downtrodden, and miserable lived a quaint and subtle life. Whenever though, she would just shrug in dissonance. The safe-house held memories, ones priceless and irreplaceable, but ones she vaguely remembered. For some reason, the safe-house had a certain eminent glow, why she was so attached to it, she never knew.

She marveled morbidly as she ran her hands through the jagged crimson curtains, and eyed the ruins of the room. "Of what once used to be so prim and elegant," she whispered as cold mist loomed from her breath towards the broken window and moistened it, with it cast the reflection of what was past. The house which once was celebrated and draped with ornate tapestries and luxurious décor, transformed to cheap furnishings, and now, to blood-washed and mutilated curtains. She heaved, sighed, and then puffed out the last remaining life of her cigarette, then fell back to the disfigured couch that smelled blood and brandy.

This was just yet another solitary night.

-Until low grunts were heard from the exterior, "Looks like I'm not alone," Éponine groaned and inhaled through her nose, with brief annoyance. "Damnations won't just leave me alone," She sprang up and scurried towards the rotting-silver safe, cursing her fractured speed.

The sounds of low growls shifted to heavy poundings that clashed towards her makeshift door. "This wouldn't last too long," she swallowed hard, bit her lower lip, and clutched the revolver tightly. The Vivmorts attack at the most random times, turning Montreuil-sur-Mer into Burgh De Rott as quick as it was five years ago. Why she lived in the city, she always knew. Why she stayed in the city, she never knew. It wasn't seconds before and the door plunged open, and all of contemplation seeped back into reality.

The Vivmorts managed to destroy the makeshift door and there they were; slouched in their backs, as an emerald and acidic venom dripped from the corner of their mouth as they stared upon their victim. Éponine gripped her revolver tighter than her previous hold, and then when the first Vivmort's mouth twitched, and its hollowed eyes flickered – longing for its victim, she raised her revolver against it and began to fire bullets, she shut her eyes from its recoil.

With every turn of the revolver's barrel, was every hole to the Vivmort's weak spot, which is, its heart. And with each bullet to the heart, was the quicker pace of its movement. The problem there was with the anatomy of the Vivmorts, was that when they are close to their final call, they become much stronger, faster, and aggressive.

Éponine almost won. The first Vivmort raged at the holes of its heart, enjoying its newfound strength. It sprang in different sides of her safe-house, surrounding her vision as it sped up towards her. She, however fired whenever the chance was there, and maintained a fair distance against the Vivmort that paced closer. She was all too caught up in the adrenaline.

Éponine moved backwards but tripped from a sackcloth lying on the ground. The Vivmort surged towards her, and when it was inches away, it licked the venom that dripped from its mouth and growled.

As the creature neared closer, Éponine took the opportunity and leapt backwards into thin air, landing upon the old wood dresser previously on her back. Shattered glasses that lay flat on the dresser scraped the sole of her feet – failing to maintain her balance, she fell flat on the other side of the ground.

Where another Vivmort leered at her.

She cocked her head, bit her cheeks, and launched a sliding kick on the second Vivmort's lower part, making the abomination hiss as it landed on its back. ponine took the opportunity to scurry away and head towards the jammed backdoor – praying to God that it would open. Éponine tilted her head towards the Vivmorts who slowly woke while she tried to pry the door open. The first and second Vivmort, dashed on both opposite sides of the east and west of her vision, and the third one entered the scene, and completed the threat.

Éponine's lip formed into a thin line as the three of them sneered and darted at her – holding out their fingers into a clawed manner – which she grabbed the crowbar that lied by her side and whirled it at all sides possible - her limbs positioned in a compromising way gave more advantage to the Vivmorts attacking. She failed however. The rusting crowbar that she formerly used melted in emerald acid.

The moment that their rotting flesh made contact with her skin that's smeared with grime and ashes; she shut her eyes tightly and waited for death to come.

It was too hopeless. Éponine saw blurred motion, and she was all too concerned and concentrated at the breath of death that swooshed through her neck; which was cold, and dismal. She heard vague, and through its vagueness, she wasn't able to pick up what exactly happened.

Too vague to hear the sounds of gunshot that pierced towards the three Vivmorts that surrounded her as she sat in her place – trembling and shielding herself from the world.

"Are you okay?" A man rushed towards her collapsing figure; his ginger locks were messy and his face was soiled – youth appeared through the small freckles on his forehead. He held his hand to support her shoulder, and then shifted to a more comfortable position to steady her posture.

"Marius is everything okay?" Another man emerged from the front door - someone who looked little years older than the first.

"Yeah, I just - need a little help in here Feuilly." Marius' voice strained as he held both of her back and thighs to help her get up. Feuilly rushed towards Marius and crouched so that they are almost on the same level. "Is everything okay?" Feuilly repeated – ready for any help needed.

"Yeah," Éponine groaned, one which earned complete attention from Marius and Feuilly. She helped herself up – her hand placing pressure on Marius' shoulder to gain balance for standing up. She snapped back to reality; there were neither Vivmorts nor death that threatens her, for now. Fixing her tanktop, Èponine crossed both of her arms in a manner to keep herself warm. "Thank you," she looked at her savior, in his eyes – which she stared at for a fleeting moment.

"Yeah, welcome." Marius grinned and dusted off his right hand through his waistcoat. Marius stuck his hand out directed towards Éponine, "I'm Marius."

She cracked a small smile and nodded, "I-I'm Éponine," she stuttered out; lost between the emerald glow of his eyes and the spots in his face that proved to be freckles

"So… Hello there, this is Feuilly, and we were sent here to investigate," and before she could open her mouth to interrogate, he continued, "the whole Burgh De Rott in general." She crossed both of her arms, in an attempt to indicate Marius to go on. "Then we found you," Marius gestured both of his hands that fell slowly with palms open which pointed towards Éponine.

"Are you living alone?" Feuilly blurted, two of his hands shoved in each of his denim's pockets as he looked around the mansion.

"Obviously," she spoke sharper than intended.

Feuilly raised his left brow and Marius stared at the exchange with his mouth half-opened.

"Any siblings?" Feuilly asked.

Éponine's jaw clenched – unnoticeably and she replied, "No."

"Parents?"

"Far away," she sneered and took a sharp breath through her nose.

"How long have you been here?"

"Five years," Éponine bit, with a restrained annoyance – the last thing she would ever need of the moment was to be an ingrate towards the people who saved her.

"I do not know if you have heard about the Rue de la Chanvevrie but-"

"I have heard about it, but the answer is no, I won't come." Éponine leaned down and took a cloth to wipe off the grime that caked towards her skin during the whole encounter, and the ones before. A sharp intake of breath resonated the moment the cloth made contact with a bruise on her shoulder.

"Please, Ms. Éponine, this is a dangerous place." Feuilly pleaded more – concern resonated from the glow of his eyes and from the curve of his brows.

"Five years," she breathed, "I've been in this house for five years. I can take care of myself," she stood up and threw the cloth on top of the dresser – with succeeding accuracy.

"We are only concerned about you," Marius stated softly – in contrast to Feuilly's abrupt and concise words and tone. "Anyhow, if you change your mind, you can always come to Rue de la Chanvevrie." He smiled. "You know where it is right?"

She nodded in response. Not you, neither I, know why I am not in that place yet, the languid voice whispered at the back of her head – which flew to accuse her and retreat immediately; it was an ocean that barks to threaten, which then after, immediately recoils and back-flows.

"We'll see you then, take care!" Marius grinned and patted Feuilly – whose eyes never left the surroundings of Montfermeil. "Let's go."

With the two of them gone, Éponine melted by the nearest couch, slowly drifting and succumbing to exhaustion and rest, But being a light-sleeper, she couldn't shun the thoughts of her savior, which woke her up for the rest of the night.

Heaps of dust swooshed across the atmosphere, almost blending with the charred posters that circulated across Rue de la Chanvevrie; though all of these attributes that made up Rue de la Chanvevrie were cloaked under the mask of the night. Instead, the noise that resounded during dawn and beyond, fell into an empathic silence – which motioned towards the near start of Les Amis l'Abaisse' meeting. The meeting is hours from the current time.

"So as I have said, Enjolras, we are in demand of more supplies to fortify the walls that keeps away the Vivmorts that threatens our citizens." Combeferre says, putting aside his leather-bound journal and channeling his focus solely on the topic.

"What you have mentioned, Combeferre does prove a valid point. This is why I sent Marius and Feuilly to scout the periphery of Burgh De Rott, formerly Montreuil-sur-Mer." Enjolras stated simply.

"What?" Combeferre winced for a brief moment.

"You have heard me," Enjolras replies quick, shifting between the pages of his timeworn book.

"Enjolras you could possibly end- well, never mind. I trust you, my friend." Combeferre returns to his journal, writing out several necessities to uphold Rue de la Chanvevrie.

"Thank you." Enjolras grunted.

An empathic lull filled the room afterwards.

"Well Montreuil-sur-Mer has changed rather drastically, doesn't it?" Combeferre pats his journal after closing it once again, this time with a fulfilled goal.

"It really did…" Enjolras paused, and stared at the fireplace momentarily; in the appearance of contemplation.

"So what's your plan now?"

"You'll see," Enjolras smirked at his friend.

Collective amounts of Les Amis l'Abaisse – or Les Amis have gathered in Musain by midnight. Each of them had their own duties to report; each of them had objects grasped in their hands. As the meeting went on, each took turns in reporting the status of the subject they were assigned to. With the guidance of Combeferre's philosophy, and Enjolras' logic; solutions were raised in a collaborative effort. And behind the stoic and somewhat pensive appearance of Enjolras throughout the exchange, was an agenda that could make or break Rue de La Chanvevrie.

"Some of you might have been contemplating why I sent Feuilly and Marius to scout the periphery, or the outskirts of Burgh De Rott," Enjolras spoke pontifical and warlike, a voice crisp and clear, and without any errancy due. It was impossible, and somewhat frightening to interfere. "I present to you, Les Amis, a scheme that I pieced together for months, if not, years. An impending extension that will stretch our boundary for a superior cause," he says, with an illustrious tone almost as ethereal as gold, but severe like wildfire.

Heads turned towards each other in gazes so confused and pensive.

"My friends, this will mold us further to improvement," a chart unfolded end to end in the chalkboard, opposite where the fireplace stood. The chart exhibited a vibrant illustration of Rue de La Chanvevrie extending towards Burgh De Rott, mainly towards the margin of it, Montfermeil; a few miles away from the Imperium – the silver city which stood proud and mighty. Several whispers of doubts and agreement cluttered and filled the quiet room.

Combeferre hollowed both sides of his cheeks and bit it. Instead of abrupt rectification, he thought that observing might be the best option for the moment.

"I'm not quite sure about that Enjolras," Marius' dreamy voice stood out in its disagreement, his statement earned a glance from the man in question. Despite the disapproving gazes from Courfeyrac, Marius continued, "The girl, who resides in Montfermeil, is hesitant to even leave the place. I came to the idea that she holds this place dearly."

"Marius, tell me. Why should we barter one girl's sentiments to a possible Utopia available for everyone who needs it?" Enjolras' question was rhetoric and rhetorical. The faces of the Amis exhibited tension; to Jehan, somberness, to Joly, panic.

"Enjolras, would you just stop looking at the big picture? We do not even hold enough rights to this land, as she probably does – for us to seize it as if it's some sort of territory of the enemy!" Marius explains, rather than exclaims.

"If you do not believe that this scheme is of greater significance than little sentiments, then the door is widely open. If you do not believe in the logic of this situation, then you may freely return to Imperium," Enjolras coldly says – steadfast and horrifying.

"Stop this, both of you. This can be settled in a more civilized manner," Combeferre stands and cuts in, walking towards the middle of the opposing forces.

"No, I will just leave, for some fresh air maybe," Marius nodded and casted his gaze downwards. "Thank you for the night," He then gave Courfeyrac a tap and retreated.

Combeferre ran a hand towards his hair and shut his eyes tight for a brief moment, before Enjolras spoke again, "Does anyone still wishes to oppose the very cause of Rue de la Chanvevrie? With all self-centeredness, to begrudge our society the comfort and justice it deserves?"

"I oppose."

A thick female voice emerged from the door which Marius previously left for a few minutes ago. She stepped out of the shadows and into the fire-lit room of Musain. Feuilly's eyes widened as Joly might have were it that he were in the same place as he – who recognized the girl.

Tell me what you think, or what part you like, or tell me anything at all! PM/Review/Favorite/Follow, anything! I have decided where I want this story to lead, but I am still open to further suggestions. Reviews are fuel/gasoline btw! *note* I edited this a bit.