Neato's lifeless body lay sprawled on the cold, sandy floor of the bunker, untouched and motionless. The faint hum of the desert wind seeped through the crevices, carrying with it the low, persistent buzz of flies. They circled above him, a somber dance of life around death.
A single fly descended, landing on Neato's partially open eye. It crawled slowly, its tiny legs pricking the still, unresponsive flesh. Suddenly, a faint twitch disturbed the eerie calm. The fly darted away as Neato's fingers jerked once, then again.
The twitches grew stronger, like an engine struggling to ignite. His body convulsed, spasming violently as if electricity surged through his veins. One. Two. Three. Four times his body arched off the ground, mimicking the life-saving shocks of a defibrillator.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the spasms ceased. Neato's eyes flew open, wide with confusion and fear. He gasped, drawing in a ragged breath of air. His hand clutched at his chest where Roman's sword had pierced him. Pain seared through him, but he was alive.
Sitting upright, Neato groaned, rubbing his temples as if to massage away the disorientation. He looked around the dimly lit bunker, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
"Where am I?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked. His mind was a whirl of fragmented memories and haunting images, but one thing was clear: he was not supposed to be alive.
END OF CHAPTER 25
THIS IS THE START OF ARC 2