The arid sprawl of Abbyss, Arizona, lay beneath a sun that beat down like the hammer of some cruel, ancient god. Dust hung heavy in the air, stirred by the rattling bus as it barreled down the dirt road, its passengers lulled into a half-daze by the relentless heat. Among them was Ricardo Fergie, a boy of fifteen, his golden hair shimmering like the sun itself, eyes the sharp blue of innocence yet to be touched by the world's true weight. At his side sat Phoenix Sergie, fresh from Moscow, black-haired and dark-eyed, a figure of shadow beside the light.
The bus groaned as it approached the outskirts of town, a cloud of dust trailing behind. "Have you dived into The Gun yet?" Ricardo asked, his voice barely rising above the engine's growl.
"Not since yesterday," Sergie replied, each word precise and deliberate, his accent adding weight to the simple exchange. "But I heard there's a new boss lurking in the ruins."
Ricardo's face lit up, excitement washing away the heat's oppressive grasp. "We have to team up. Your cunning, my luck—we'll destroy them."
The bus lurched to a stop, their conversation drowned in laughter as they stood, dust swirling around their feet like specters from the ground. They moved toward the cracked and faded walls of their school, a place more a relic of what it once was than a haven for learning.
Inside, the air grew thick with the buzz of voices, the sharp scent of sweat mingling with the sickly sweetness of cheap cologne. They pushed through the crowd, but soon found their path blocked by Zack—a towering figure whose frame cast long shadows over the hallway. His voice oozed arrogance, and his gaze settled on Ricardo like a predator spotting prey.
"Fergie! Hand over your lunch money." Zack's lips curled into a sneer, his tone laced with mockery. He took a step forward, stopping short when Sergie's eyes locked onto his, cold and unwavering. Sergie stared into Zack's soul, as though reading something the brute was desperate to keep hidden.
"It's just a joke," Zack stammered, his bravado faltering under the weight of Sergie's gaze. He stepped back, shadows of fear crossing his face. "Right?"
Sergie didn't flinch, his words sharp and final. "You think it's a joke to steal from friends? Back off."
Ricardo's laughter broke the tension, his voice light and free. "You've got his number, Sergie."
They continued to class, leaving Zack behind, a storm broken before it even had a chance to form. But as they settled into their seats, the oppressive air of normalcy returned. Mr. Walter, eyes heavy with the weight of years, shuffled into the room. He moved like a man carrying a burden he had long since accepted as his lot in life.
"Quiet down," he muttered, clutching a stack of papers as though they were the last line of defense between him and the chaos of youth. "We're taking attendance."
Before he could call the first name, the world shook.
A thunderous bang, deafening and final, ripped through the classroom, sending papers flying like startled birds. Students flinched, their gasps sharp and sudden, the room frozen in a moment of collective fear.
Sergie's pulse quickened as the sound reverberated in his bones. A flash of light, blinding and absolute, engulfed him. Darkness followed.
When he opened his eyes, the world had changed. The classroom was empty, desks overturned, papers scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. The laughter, the tension, the noise—it was all gone, leaving only a hollow silence that pressed in on Sergie's chest.
"Ricardo?" he called out, his voice echoing through the desolate room. He stepped into the hallway, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears. The fluorescent lights flickered weakly above him, casting long, broken shadows across the floor.
Bones. They lay scattered across the hallway, remnants of lives that had once filled these halls with noise and chaos. Now, they were nothing more than brittle echoes of the past. Sergie's breath caught in his throat, horror seeping into his veins like a slow poison.
"This isn't real," he whispered, his mind grasping at the edges of disbelief. But the weight of the world pressed down on him, refusing to let him retreat into denial.
Driven by an instinctual urge for survival, he scavenged what little he could find—an old backpack, a few books, a pen with a rusted edge that felt oddly reassuring in his hand. With a shaky breath, he pushed open the heavy doors, stepping into a world he no longer recognized.
Outside, the schoolyard was overgrown, twisted vines choking the remains of swings and slides. Trees loomed, their branches skeletal and warped, reaching toward the sky like hands desperate for salvation. The air was thick with the stench of decay, a world slowly being reclaimed by nature's cold, indifferent grasp.
"Is this a dream?" Sergie's voice wavered as he stepped into the desolate landscape. But dreams had never felt so cold, so suffocatingly real. A rustle of leaves echoed from the overgrown ruins, and with it came the unmistakable sense that he was not alone.
He wandered through the abandoned town, the weight of loneliness gnawing at his core. The town, once vibrant, was now a graveyard, buildings crumbling, streets silent. His thoughts fixated on Ricardo. Where was he? What had happened?
Then, in the dying light of the sun, he saw him: a figure, white-haired, pale as the moon, standing amid the ruins. His presence was striking, otherworldly.
Sergie hesitated. "Hey! Are you… okay?"
The figure turned, his eyes unreadable. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice smooth and confident.
"Sergie. Phoenix Sergie," he replied cautiously. "And you?"
The stranger smiled, a smirk that sent a chill down Sergie's spine. "Dante Vex," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "The vampire."
Sergie's brow furrowed. "Vampire?"
"I can read your mind," Dante continued, stepping closer, his smile growing.
Sergie crossed his arms. "Or maybe you're just crazy."
Dante laughed, the sound low and knowing. "Perhaps. But you're not exactly in a position to argue, are you?"
Sergie glanced around the desolate wasteland, a sense of helplessness creeping in. "I need shelter," he muttered. "It's almost dark."
Dante tilted his head, assessing him. "You can stay at my place," he offered with a smirk, his pale eyes glinting in the fading light.
Sergie hesitated but nodded. Loneliness gnawed at him, and the darkening world pressed in.
Together, they walked into the night.