Cain
Cain sat in the darkness; glimmering light filtered through the broken ceiling poured down around him flooding the ruined infrastructure of a one time noted technology center. His eyes perceived miles away; voices flooding each of hi thoughts, bombarding him with a great many needs and desires. He ambled along slowly, listening to the rustling of feet sifting through ash and dirt. The Oroc weren't seen, simply felt and heard.
Groans and grunts like those of an ape. His people were simple minded and easily swayed especially if they were angered. They had no concepts of wars dragging on for centuries--their minds were limited. While they had plenty of Orocs to fight with--that was not the problem--the problem was they could not cannibalize for for ever nor could they eat the remaining humans and Silvians they'd starve to death in a matter of weeks.
Cain wandered down the ruined city street, deep in the heartland of Oroc lands. A vast city where it all began, where the cure was made--where time stopped. There were several notable skyscrapers, including Page Industries the seat of the vaccination for the Azrael Syndrome. He turned towards the looming building. Once a facade of greed and power and the edge of technological growth--was now just a shell, a husk.
Cain entered the lobby; immediately he saw the lavishness of the enterprise empire. A large, still rotating steel sphere that had the continents of the world's governing powers with large letters spelling out Page Industries. The floor was polished granite, now was covered with a thick layer of dust. He ventured past the secretary's desk of red oak, and into the the elevator. Cain pressed the furthest floor and the elevator lurched before it groaned and began traveling upwards.
Turning around, the lights flickered with a dying light as the steel box lifted him up the nearly one-hundred sixty stories. The bell sounded and the heavy doors opened to a spectacular sight. Well over six-hundred meters in height, Cain stepped out into the main VIP office and stepped past the over turned desks to the large stone seat labeled 'Throne of the World'. He looked it up and down before stepping slowly up to it, turning and setting down, looking out over the ruined world before him.
Adam
Adam dropped ten feet down, pulled back the lever on his rifle revving the chainsaw; darting across the land scape, he ran towards an injured Oroc. It had its arm its free hand and searching around for its driven instincts to kill--clubbing human soldier's as they ran by. Its body already coagulating its blood into a thick syrup near the site of the beserker's injury. Such was the incredible healing factor of the Orocs, that even when dismembered their bodies reacted by heavily clotting and rejuvenating the area with their adrenal glands. Their adrenal system was much more than a human's was--they were walking triage centers.
He drove the the saw teeth into its stomach. The thick, calloused skin was stubborn, but with a disgruntled shout from Adam to affirm his fervor. The Oroc growled, gripping the rifle and Adam's mechanical wrists. The sound of the many machined parts in his muscular-skeletal systems whirring as they fought against pure muscle. Adam gritted his teeth as both he and his rifle were pulled away from the Oroc. Adam suddenly found himself forced back.
Adam was thrown to the side his rifle knocked away from his hands and tossed even further into the rubble. The Oroc didn't immediately engage him, instead it was more interested in its lacerated stomach. Its intestines had been shredded. It then turned towards him as he picked himself up, lumbered towards him as he coughed and spat. It grabbed Adam by the arm and shoulder and catapulted him through the air and through a standing house support beam.