Alex is waking up, a bit groggy, his breath ragged. His right hand felt a bit numb, his starting to scan his surroundings, noting the eerie quiet.
He starting walking around in a empty room "Is anybody here!?". No one answering just an echo of his voice.
The interior was a little dark, lit only by the sunlight streaming through a broken window.
Alex rubbed his temples, his head pounding with a dull ache, as though it carried the weight of memories just out of reach. The room smelled of decay, dust, and something metallic. His heart raced, not just from fear but from the overwhelming questions swirling in his mind.
"Where the hell am I?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and raspy, as if he hadn't spoken in days. His gaze drifted to the shelves strewn across the floor, broken jars and containers spilling their contents—canned goods, tools, random items whose purposes he couldn't fathom.
He approached the window cautiously, avoiding the jagged shards of glass that framed its edges. The cityscape outside was barely recognizable. The once-majestic skyline was reduced to a macabre silhouette of destruction, the twisted skeletons of skyscrapers looming like forgotten tombstones. Nature had invaded every corner, as though mocking humanity's absence.
From his vantage point, Alex could make out what looked like a rusted bus lying on its side, its interior gutted and the unmistakable glint of bones visible through its shattered windows. He shuddered. The scene outside wasn't just abandoned—it was desolate, haunted.
"How long has it been like this?" The words escaped his lips like a prayer, though no answer came. His fingers tightened against the windowsill, the paint flaking under his grip.
He turned back to the room, determined to search for clues. He kicked aside debris, trying to make sense of the chaos. Amid the scattered items, he found a faded leather backpack. Inside were a few canned goods, a flashlight with barely any charge, and a knife. Not much, but it was something.
Alex slung the backpack over his shoulder. "First step," he whispered to himself, "find out if I'm alone."
He carefully made his way to the door, which was slightly ajar. The hallway beyond was just as trashed as the room, with peeling wallpaper and rusted metal fixtures. He stepped over a toppled chair, his boots crunching against shards of glass. His ears strained for any sound, but all he heard was the faint whistle of the wind through broken walls.
As he descended the crumbling staircase, Alex noticed graffiti scrawled across the walls: "STAY QUIET. THEY HEAR EVERYTHING." The words stopped him cold.
"They? Who's they?" he whispered, his heart thundering in his chest. The idea of not being alone in this ruined world should have been comforting, but it wasn't. His grip tightened on the knife.
Once he reached the ground floor, Alex pushed open the heavy front doors, which groaned loudly on their hinges. The air outside was heavy and humid, filled with the scent of earth and rot. He shielded his eyes against the sunlight as he stepped onto the cracked pavement.
In the distance, a faint sound caught his attention—a rhythmic, metallic clanging, like something dragging across the ground. He froze, his instincts screaming at him to hide.
Ducking behind a rusted car, Alex peered through a gap in the twisted metal. A shadow moved across the street, humanoid in shape but unmistakably wrong. Its elongated limbs twitched unnaturally, and its head tilted as though sniffing the air. It dragged something behind it—a jagged piece of rebar clanging against the asphalt.
Alex held his breath, every muscle in his body tense. The creature paused, its head swiveling in his direction. For a moment, he swore its hollow eyes locked onto him.
His mind screamed run, but his body refused to move.