Anthead, hands in his radiation-proof suit, kicked the rusted tin-can down the road, the quiet clinking it made the only noise to be heard for miles, besides the wind and Anthead’s footsteps. The road seemed to last forever, buildings dotting the sides and intersections, many mere ruins, others with simple blown-out glass. After his 173rd kick, Anthead frowned at the tin can. He took a few steps back, the rubber of the suit scratching against the chitin of his body. He widened his stance, squaring his shoulders, and giving a hard look to the tin can. Then, he charged, his covered-antenna flapping behind him as he did so. As he reached the tin can, his leg winded up behind him and slammed into the tin can, sending it hurtling into the air. However, with this kick came a burst of wind, and as the tin can soared, it soared far and too the left, quickly hurtling out of sight and into the clouds above.

Anthead ran forward a few feet, looking after the can. As it disappeared, he watched, looking up and placing his hands on his hips.

“Aww, damnit.”

He grabbed one of his antennae, holding it down in front of his mask. He watched as the thin material flapped in his hand, bending in the direction of the wind viciously.

“Hrm. Seems fair, I guess.”

Anthead looked around from where he stood, squinting at the buildings around him. One of them caught his eye, its sign faded but just barely still legible, reading “Oddy’s Orchestra.” Anthead walked over and stepped through the storefront’s window. Glass was scattered all over the interior of the shop, and many of the instruments within were melted slag, a thin film of dust covering the entire place. However, as Anthead struggled through the floating, heavy fog of dust mites, the back of the store held more intact instruments, the first of which that caught Anthead’s attention was a trumpet, only somewhat spotted and rusty. He picked it up, grabbing the lip of his gas mask, before stopping. 

He fished through the duffle bag he carried on his back, eventually pulling a small, yellow device with the words ‘Geiger counter’ printed above a set of dials and numbers. Upon flicking the switch on its side, all the dials immediately maxed out before the glass on the device bursted, joining the glass on the floor. Anthead grunted, putting the device back in his duffle bag and the trumpet down. As he went through, poking and prodding the various instruments, another gust of wind blew, this time through the shop. As the instruments rattled in the wind, one wheezed and whistled, swinging on a string that attached it to the wall. A harmonica. Anthead immediately grabbed the instrument, ripping it off the wall and waving it around in the air. However, it failed to produce the same sound as the wind had caused.

Flipping it over in his hands, he eyeballed the device. Looking at the small slots on the back, he rubbed the side of his head, before snapping and running out of the store, leaping over a smashed oboe on the way out. 

Dashing back the way he walked, he ran for a half a mile before reaching “Darry’s House-care-house.” The store had half-collapsed, the other half creaking, bits of roof constantly falling into what remained of the store below. Anthead placed his hands on his hips as he entered, looking around. The first thing to catch his eye was near one of the cashier lanes; a small, green tree, one that purported to keep a car smelling fresh. Anthead swiped it, delicately looping it over his antennae, before moving deeper into the store.

Shopping carts dotted the entire store, many of which still had skeleton fingers locked around their handles. Anthead stepped over the bodies, perusing the aisles and dragging an empty cart behind him, periodically bumping one of the up-till-then undisturbed bodies. Anthead observed that the store had little in the way of knick-knacks, mostly stuff such as pots-and-pans and expired cleaning fluids. However, his search eventually brought him to where the store had collapsed, the rubble being made up of household appliances. Digging through the pile, Anthead eventually came across a portable, handheld vacuum. As he grabbed it, however, the entire building shook, Anthead immediately removing his hand from the vacuum. He looked up, and finally saw that the vacuum seemed to be, in some way, acting as a stopper for a giant metal pillar currently angled to bring down the entire building, it’s falling path taking it through most of the few remaining supports still standing. 

Anthead scratched at the base of his antennae, wondering how to remove the load-bearing vacuum, when a pile of nearby shopping carts collapsed. Anthead looked over, and a saw a blob of rubbery, gooey mass, leaking green liquid from all its pores that seemed to sizzle and burn at the touch of the ground. Its body was round and pulsating, but its arms and legs were skinny and barely more then bone. The creature raised a single hand towards Anthead, before uttering a hollow-sounding howl that shook the acidic liquid within it around like spittle.

Anthead gripped the vacuum and yanked it out of its pile, immediately turning around and running towards the exit of the building.The metal pole immediately began falling down, dragging chunks of the roof with it. As the entire building began to shake, sky light penetrating through the new holes in the roof, the creature gave chase to Anthead, holding its arms out in front of it as it spilled liquid every each way. As it chased, it howled again, its voice wet and flemmy, uttering “DAAAAAAAARRY’S HOUSE-CARE-HOUSE, WHERE YOU GO TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR HOOOOOOOOOOOO-.” The creature continued running, its pitch constantly rising. As it began to catch up, Anthead grabbed one of the shopping crates, currently containing a dead body with a cardigan sweater in it, and shoved it in the direction of the creature. It stumbled as the cart slammed into its gut, liquid spilling out of its various holes and burning the cart into slag. 

Anthead dashed past the cash registers and past the powerless sensors, no burglary alarms activating as he smashed through one of the few remaining glass panes of the building and tumbled to the ground. He turned his head around, watching the creature clamber over the cashier’s stall just in time for the rest of the building to come down, a small splat of goo dissolving the rock and metal in a small area being the creature’s remains. Anthead stood up, rubbing the dust from his mask’s visor. 

Walking deeper into the parking lot, Anthead sat down, leaning against the hood of a rusted sedan. Vacuum in hand, he took a minute to make sure it worked. Flicking a switch on its side, it immediately kicked up, sucking the dust off Anthead’s arm. He toyed around with the power settings, watching it absorb more and less dust with each different power setting. He layed the device at his side, before hoisting up his duffle bag and reaching into it. Out came a roll of duct tape, a spool of string, and the harmonica. Together, and with about half an hour of work, Anthead had attached the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner to the Harmonica, and the vacuum cleaner itself strapped to his back. Another set of string tied around his fingers could move the nozzle along the harmonica, letting it play at different tones with different sets of power. Finally, the whole contraption hung from Anthead’s neck.

Anthead stuck one hand in his pocket, the other working the musical device. The vacuum blew, and the harmonica created an inconsistent and ear-piercing shrill, one that was constantly changing. Anthead nodded, and walked out of the parking lot, heading back down the path he was walking originally. The sound of the wind, his footsteps, and now his harmonica carrying him along the path.