This was for a challenge on the DeviantART Literature Forum to write 100 to 200 words of prose in under 10 minutes. Hauling ass, I finished this in 7 minutes, proofreading included. It actually takes place in the setting for the third fiction novel I want to write: Chains.
It was 8:13 P.M. in the Megacity, and multiple infections were spreading through the populations, from slaves to criminals. The sky was all polluted with green smog that pushed into the few streetlights still working among others that were broken and carved up by punks long gone. He was beaten up-looking, but determined; wearing the clothes of a commoner. The middle-aged man had shot himself up with one antidote but another disease was still slowly killing him, drawing him down towards the blurring ground like a bad flu from a worse place.
He was headed towards the restaurant towards the other cure he needed, when a gunshot rang out near one of his footsteps, making his heart skip a beat as it left a large hole in the pavement.