Sunday, September 12, 2140 – Yakaterinburg, Russia
Abraham hurriedly walked through the deserted streets of Yakaterinburg, his every step echoing in the emptiness. He entered building after building, desperately searching for food supplies and a UV light—essential for his daughter's treatment. Despite scouring countless places, he found no trace of the UV bulbs he needed. As the sky grew darker, despair crept into his heart. Failure after failure had marked his entire day.
By late afternoon, Abraham realized he had to return home before nightfall. Without adequate supplies, the nighttime would become even more perilous. Darkness brought with it a terror that loomed everywhere, especially with the constant threat of monsters hiding in the shadows. Even so, Abraham knew he had to persevere—for his daughter, Anastasia.
As he trudged back, his sharp eyes caught sight of a group of people entering a supermarket—one he had searched earlier that day. They appeared to be fellow survivors. Abraham studied them carefully. Rifles were slung across their backs, and they moved with a precision that suggested training—likely part of a larger, organized community.
The sound of Abraham's heavy footsteps drew their attention. One of them, a man with a scar running across his face, raised his head, narrowing his eyes at the lone figure walking past.
For a moment, the air around them turned still. The eerie silence of the dead city amplified the tension. The scarred man quickly stood, his hand halting a companion mid-sip from a bottle of water they'd just looted. His gaze locked onto Abraham, who showed no sign of stopping.
"Hey, you there! Were you the one who tried to take our supplies?" the scarred man shouted, his voice cutting through the silence and reverberating down the empty street.
Abraham paused, showing no sign of fear. He slowly turned to face them, his piercing gaze meeting theirs. His face remained stoic, betraying no emotion, though beads of sweat trickled down his temple. His posture, however, remained firm—a silent statement of defiance.
"First come, first served," Abraham replied coolly, his voice calm yet filled with unwavering resolve. It carried a weight that suggested he was prepared for any consequences.
The men exchanged uneasy glances, assessing the situation. Abraham's composure unnerved them; his courage was not something they encountered often. Yet greed outweighed their hesitation.
"No need to misunderstand, friend," said another man, younger and attempting to sound conciliatory. "We just want to make sure these supplies stay safe. Maybe we can help you… in a way that benefits us all."
Abraham raised an eyebrow, recognizing the veiled threat. He had seen this tactic before—smooth words masking ill intent. In a world like this, deceit often struck harder than blades.
"If you feel the need to take them," Abraham replied evenly, "then you'll find yourself dealing with problems far worse than a few supplies."
The tension thickened. One of the group, older and appearing more experienced, stepped forward with calculated movements. His expression was serious, his steps measured, like a predator closing in on its prey.
But Abraham remained still. Their eyes met, and in that instant, the air seemed to crackle with unspoken challenges.
"So, this is your choice?" the older man asked, his voice low and deliberate.
Abraham nodded slowly, unwavering. "You have a choice, too," he said. "But remember, this world doesn't offer many second chances."
The atmosphere grew heavier, and the silence enveloping them felt suffocating. The group reassessed their position, realizing that while they outnumbered Abraham, his courage was something they couldn't quantify.
Time seemed to freeze as everyone awaited the next move.
Suddenly, one of the men raised his gun, pointing it directly at Abraham. "Hand over your bag now, or we'll put a hole in your head!" he barked. Immediately, the others followed suit, aiming their weapons at him.
"Hey… relax, friends. That's not what I meant," Abraham said calmly, his tone genuine but his eyes sharp. Slowly, he slid his bag off his shoulder, his movements deliberate, as if reminding them there was no immediate threat. The eerie silence returned, broken only by the faint whistling of the wind between the ruins.
Abraham placed the bag on the ground with care, as if to diffuse the situation without escalating it. "You can take the bag," he said evenly, "but I'll need my glasses." His gaze stayed steady, his words carrying a deeper significance.
The survivors exchanged puzzled looks, unsure what to make of the strange request. In a world where survival meant everything, such a trivial demand seemed absurd. Nevertheless, one of them, a younger man with a weathered face, pulled the glasses from the bag and hesitantly handed them over.
"What do you need these for?" the man sneered, his tone mocking. "You think it's vacation time?"
Abraham chuckled softly, unperturbed by the jab. "I need them for this," he said, his tone shifting. His eyes narrowed with intensity, and the air around them seemed to change.
Without warning, Abraham pulled a small object from his pocket. Before anyone could react, a blinding flash exploded—a flashbang! The searing light temporarily blinded the group, their cries of shock and pain echoing in the empty street.
Chaos erupted. The survivors stumbled, their vision overwhelmed by the brilliant flash. Disoriented, they clutched at their faces, unable to see anything around them.
Abraham didn't hesitate. He donned his glasses, shielding his eyes from the flash. Standing tall amidst the confusion, he took a deep breath, the sound of his heartbeat the only clarity in the chaos.
"Like I said," he muttered, his voice steady, "first come, first served."
With that, Abraham snatched up his bag and sprinted away, his movements quick and decisive.
The survivors, still recovering from the flash, scrambled to regain their composure. They rose unsteadily, their frustration boiling into rage as they gave chase. Guns were raised, bullets tearing through the air in Abraham's direction.
But Abraham was fast. He zigzagged through the ruins, evading each shot with practiced agility. The adrenaline coursing through him dulled the pain of his injuries, though he knew he couldn't keep up the pace forever.
The chase continued, the tension mounting as the gap between them narrowed. Abraham's breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps, but his determination remained unshaken. For Anastasia, he had to survive.