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      David Zora grew up when the water was clean, and the skies untainted by chemicals and warfare.When he was nine, he wrote a paper on how the nations of the world were like starved pit bulls fighting over a hunk of gristle. David graduated at the top of his class in high school, then later in college, writing influential papers on numerous subjects along the way. The world expected great things of David Zora. He was a legend in the making. Then, he disappeared.

      While he was gone, the world went to pieces. Governments pulled one another apart, and wars sprouted up like weeds. When the dust had settled, David Zora returned from his hiding. The world he knew, destroyed by the “noble and just” governments he grew up with. The sky, was tinted a ghastly orange by some insecticide. David looked up at the ruins of San Francisco, and hoped that he could find some way to rebuild society.
      Walking through the burnt streets of his home town, The walls of the familiar streets of Castro, Geary, Mission, and Lombard all pocked with holes, the buildings charred by flame, walls crumbling and dilapidated. David found himself being watched. He caught fleeting glimpses of faces, arms, hands and feet. David was out of place in his clean overalls, his washed hair and when he found what remained of a hardware store, David went inside, and got himself a spade. When he came outside again, there was a small crowd waiting for him. A small old man, looked at him and said, “You’re David Zora”. It was not a question. David smiled at the crowd, and just began to work. First, he moved the ashes from the front of the un-looted store, then the debris. All the while, the crowd stood looking at him as though he was from the moon.
      Eventually, one of them worked up the courage to ask what he was doing. David’s answer was long in the coming. “The world we once knew is gone. That much is obvious. However, I will not live in this disgusting filth; I will not condemn myself to live in these conditions. Throughout San Francisco, I have stores of food, and water, all clean and fresh. Each one connected to another, all self-sustaining environments. The problem is, they’re all underground. Any who wish to have a better life, come with me.”
      A stout man with a gleaming scar stretching from his jaw across his left cheek stood up and pointed an accusing finger at David. “Why should we listen to you?” he shouted. “We who have struggled to live since the world went to hell, have been surviving just fine before you came here!” his face was bright red in his anger. “You come here to tell us that YOU can give us a better place to live, but it’s underground where the worms live. You might as well have told us that you can fly while you’re spouting vicious lies.”
      There was a murmuring of approval from the people. The tension seemed to have no effect on David. He straightened, and planted the blade of his shovel in the ground, and looked them all in the eye. “When I grew up, I dreamed of going out into space, finding other places to live, and exploring the realm of space. However, as quickly as I began, events around the globe showed me that what I desired was impossible. However, instead of abandoning my dream, I took it underground. 15 years of blood, sweat, and tears lay just beneath my feet. 15 of the most important years of my life, preparing for the future. I built these places to live, not for myself, but for those who need it most.”
     “you mean to tell us that you sat on your arse as your people struggled and died?”
the scarred man shouted. This statement brought an uproar from the crowd, their faces transformed by rage at the concept of anyone escaping the scathe of the world they were now a part of. “you sat  in your safe home, in your clean clothes, while we struggled to live in the dirt and slime. You—“
      “How long has it been since you’ve drunk clean water,” David interrupted, “or eaten fresh fruit and vegetables? How long has it been since you’ve seen people living through what was considered preventable disease?” David sighed. “I don’t want to see people die, not when I can help them.” With that ending note, David picked up his shovel and continued to remove the ashes and filth of the Old San Francisco.
      One by one, the crowed of people began to help him. Slowly at first, then with increasing vigor. Once the ground was clear, David gathered his small gathering, and got out the pickaxes. He began to work at the asphalt in the clearing, until it was bared to the dirt. Another few feet of dirt, sweat and grime, and a shining metal hatch was bared in the garish light. With the keys in his belt, David unlocked the portal, and a brush of moist, warm air greeted the following, filled with the scent of greenery, safety, and familiarity. Into the dark, David Zora led his people, into the safety and warmth.