When the bears came

There is a primal nature to the sound of a bullet loading into the chamber. I ready my SMG and my spine shivers in delight at the clack-clack of metal buckling against metal. I turn a corner and here we are, standing in the black. You, trembling behind some bins, while I take the measure of a well-earned meal. Finally. What's left of my stomach grumbles at the wet noise of your squirming. The sea of glass shatters under the crushing weight of my leg's hydraulics. There, there, little bull. It will soon be over. We used to have so many nice things. Now I live inside a helmet so my eyes don't melt from the toxins. I look around at these crack-shacks you infest and I can't help but wonder... Do you even remember when the sky was still blue?

Tell me, tell- tell- tell me, little bull... Where were you, when the bears came?