Damien stepped out of the crumbling hospital, the heavy metal doors groaning on their hinges as if protesting his freedom. The sight that greeted him was nothing short of a nightmare. The city was a shadow of its former self, a wasteland cloaked in silence save for the occasional distant echo of collapsing buildings. Skyscrapers stood broken, their glass windows shattered into jagged edges, and vines climbed their lifeless facades like creeping fingers. Abandoned cars lined the cracked streets, their rusted frames a testament to the passage of time, while smoldering fires burned faintly in the distance, sending dark plumes of smoke into the ashen sky.
The stench of decay was overwhelming. Corpses littered the streets, some rotting in grotesque poses, their faces frozen in expressions of terror, others charred beyond recognition. Flies swarmed over the bodies, the droning buzz creating a macabre symphony of death. The world felt devoid of life, yet somehow brimming with a menacing energy that set Damien's nerves on edge.
He turned and doubled over, his stomach rebelling against the gruesome scene. He retched violently, clutching his knees for support. The bile burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the chilling realization that he was alone in a world gone mad. Wiping his mouth, he straightened up and forced himself to move forward. Staying still wasn't an option—not here, not now.
Each step was tentative as Damien tried to make sense of his surroundings. He walked down the middle of the street, his shoes crunching over broken glass and debris. The oppressive silence was interrupted only by the sound of his breathing and the occasional gust of wind carrying the acrid smell of burnt flesh. He kept his senses sharp, scanning every corner, every shadow, fearing that something—or someone—was lurking.
Then he heard it. The low growl of motorcycles in the distance. The sound grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable crack of gunfire. Damien froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He turned his head frantically, searching for the source of the noise, but the empty streets revealed nothing.
Suddenly, a column of black smoke rose to the sky from a direction just ahead. The motorcycles were getting closer, their engines roaring like hungry beasts. Damien's instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like lead. Before he could decide what to do, a firm hand grabbed his wrist.
He whipped around, his mind racing with panic, only to see a figure emerge from the shadows—a woman. She yanked him toward a car parked a few feet away, her movements quick and decisive.
"Get in," she hissed, shoving him toward the passenger seat.
Damien stumbled into the car, landing awkwardly on the seat. The woman followed him inside, slamming the door shut behind her. In one swift motion, she pressed herself against him, her hand clamping over his mouth.
"Don't make a sound," she whispered, her voice low but commanding.
Damien's wide eyes met hers, and for a moment, the chaos outside faded into the background. She was breathtaking. Her alabaster-white hair cascaded over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, shimmering faintly even in the dim light. A red flower adorned her locks, adding a splash of vivid color to her striking appearance. Her crimson eyes burned with intensity, a mix of caution and resolve.
Her outfit—or lack thereof—only added to her allure. A tattered piece of red cloth barely covered her ample chest, held together by what looked like makeshift straps. Her toned stomach and arms hinted at her strength and resilience, while her exposed legs bore faint scars, evidence of battles fought and survived.
Damien couldn't help but notice the way her body pressed against his, her warmth contrasting sharply with the cold metal of the car. His breath hitched, and she narrowed her eyes at him, as if daring him to make a noise.
The sound of motorcycles grew deafening as they roared past the car. Damien held his breath, his pulse pounding in his ears. Through the car's dusty windows, he caught glimpses of figures riding the bikes—men clad in leather and armed to the teeth. Their faces were obscured by masks, but their hostile intentions were clear in the way they fired their weapons indiscriminately at anything that moved.
As the last of the motorcycles disappeared down the street, the woman finally released Damien, sitting back in the driver's seat with a sigh of relief.
"What… what was that?" Damien stammered, his voice hoarse.
"Raiders," she replied curtly, brushing her hair out of her face.
"Raiders?"
"They're scavengers," she explained. "They'll kill you without a second thought if you have anything they want. Consider yourself lucky I found you before they did."
Damien swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He glanced out the window, half-expecting the raiders to return.
The woman studied him for a moment, her sharp gaze taking in his disheveled appearance. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Damien hesitated. "I… I just woke up. In the hospital."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The hospital? You mean that hospital?" She gestured toward the building he had just left, its silhouette looming ominously against the gray sky.
He nodded.
"You've been in a coma," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "That explains why you look so… out of place."
Damien frowned. "Who are you?"
The woman smirked, leaning back in her seat. "The name's Aria. And you, coma boy?"
"Damien," he replied.
"Well, Damien," Aria said, her tone teasing yet serious. "If you want to survive out here, you're going to have to stick with me. The world's not what it used to be."
Her words sent a chill down Damien's spine. He glanced out the window again, taking in the ruined city. Whatever had happened while he was unconscious had turned the world into a living hell.
And he was just beginning to understand how much danger he was in.