The world outside was a hellscape of chaos and destruction. You had been hiding for days, maybe weeks, within the crumbling remnants of a once-bustling city. The air was thick with smoke, the constant sound of gunfire and explosions a grim reminder of the war waged between humanity and the alien invaders.

The invaders came without warning. Their armored forms moved like shadows, silent and swift, their weapons gleaming with otherworldly light. Their intentions were clear; they didn't need words. They had found you, and whatever they planned, you knew it wouldn’t be merciful.

And then he came.

He emerged from the smoke and ash like a warrior, his body a monument to endurance and pain. The burns that marred his skin glowed faintly, cracks of fiery light spiderwebbing across his flesh. His left arm was gone, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need it. In his remaining hand, he wielded a jagged piece of metal, more like a shard than a weapon, but it was enough.

The invaders turned, their weapons pivoting to meet him. They fired without hesitation, and the air was filled with the searing light of their energy blasts. But Manny did not fall. He moved with a speed and ferocity that defied belief, his improvised weapon slicing through the first invader with a strength that seemed impossible for a human.

The second and third attackers were on him immediately, their strikes precise and unrelenting. But Manny met them blow for blow, his movements fueled by something beyond human endurance. Every time it seemed he would falter, he found the strength to push forward.

When the last one fell, he stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving with labored breaths. Blood and ash stained his body, and the glow of his wounds flickered, but he did not fall. Up close, you could see the extent of his injuries. No one should have been able to stand, let alone fight, in such a state. His eyes were half-closed, his breaths shallow. You couldn’t tell if he was still alive, only that he he stood through sheer will.