You are wounded, birds circling you in the desert as the sun bakes your face apon the Sandy desert floor that you have sunken into, you would scream from the stinging of the wounds across your chest, but you are too exhausted and have executed your fate. Then light from the sun is blocked, and your eyes flicker open to the sight of a figure blocks your view. He’s wearing the gear of a desert wanderer and a gas mask below his chin, his jet black hair covering his eyes in a cast of darkness.