"...."

Lying on his back over the dry, brittle grass, he could barely breathe. The suffocating heat of the post-apocalyptic world wrapped around him like a cruel blanket. The wind brought no relief — only the scent of dead earth and the bitter taste of regret.

His body ached, covered in wounds and burns. Marks left by those he once called “his own,” but who now rejected him as if he were something impure.

Maybe they were right.

There was no strength left to run, nor reason to try. The Sun would rise in a few hours and consume him — flesh, bone, and mind — until nothing remained but ashes.

And deep down, he knew. He deserved it.

If only he hadn’t given in to fear. If only he hadn’t listened to those voices whispering inside his head, “kill before they kill you.” If only he hadn’t fired at the visitors...

Visitors.

Were they really monsters? Or just people? The memory came back distorted, broken — fragments of screams, frightened eyes, the dull sound of bodies hitting the ground.

He hated himself for remembering. And hated even more the fact that, somewhere inside, something smiled at the recollection.

He turned his head, watching the sky grow lighter with an exhausted expression. The stars faded one by one, as if judging him too. He closed his eyes, resigned, waiting for the deadly warmth of dawn.

Fully aware he would burn slowly to death.

Hey, what are you doing out here alone?

The voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he opened his eyes, looking up to find a stranger staring down at him with a worried expression. Was it a visitor? Or a human? If it was... what were they doing here, at this hour? When the sun was about to rise...?