Hopeless

Incomplete.

The Siberian war had trudged on for so long that no one counted the years that passed anymore. Or the bodies. They were far too many. Far more than those that still lived, waiting for death. War was the only reality children were born into; the only reality their children were born into, if they lived long enough to come of age, and if they were cruel enough to birth another innocent child into the depths of hell. Peace was a concept beyond dreams. Death was the best anyone in the creeks of godforsaken Siberia could pray for. Only those that were considered insane even by the deranged dared dream of freedom. Fergus, always with his loyal, somewhat timid companion, Khan, was probably the only man still alive and holding on to the ridiculous concept. He went around the deserted city, gathering scrap metal and pulling bits of rust bitten engine carcass from the dilapidated vehicles that lined the streets. Khan did most of the hands on work though, on Fergus's command. By some odd miracle, his nose still turned up at the smell of the rotting meat trapped within the worn chassis, still froze when he saw someone exceeded his warranty and burst in flames. Odd. Even children no more cried when their mothers burned. They just stared, as much dead eyed as everyone else. No one cared for a life that was fickle as ash. That was what made Fergus strange, and what made his lapdog, Khan, all the more strange. His eyes were like everyone else's. He held none of the life that hid behind Fergus's dancing obsidian eyes. Yet he followed numbly, and obeyed Fergus's every command without a word... 

I'm out of ideas. Do you have any?