Dust motes danced in the faint light filtering through a gaping hole in the wall. Adrian groaned, his head throbbing like a drum. He blinked, trying to focus on the cracked ceiling above him. Debris was scattered everywhere – chunks of concrete, twisted metal, and shards of glass that crunched ominously under him as he tried to sit up.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice raspy. Silence.
He pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the ache in his muscles. The room was a mess, furniture overturned, walls scarred with deep gashes. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Or maybe an earthquake? He couldn't remember anything.
As his eyes adjusted, he noticed the view outside the gaping hole in the wall. Buildings stood like hollowed-out skeletons against a bruised, purple-tinged sky. Twisted metal and crumbling skyscrapers clawed at the horizon, monuments to some unknown catastrophe. It was like a scene from a disaster movie, surreal and unsettling.
"Okay," Adrian muttered to himself, trying to stay calm. "This is... weird. Really weird."
He stumbled out of the room, into what was once a hallway. Doors hung off their hinges, revealing more scenes of destruction. The air was thick with the smell of decay and something else... something acrid and metallic.
As he rounded a corner, he saw it.
A figure shambled towards him, its clothes torn and stained, its skin a sickly grey. It groaned, a guttural, inhuman sound that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Whoa, what the heck?" Adrian said, his voice laced with nervous laughter. "Is this some kind of prank? Movie set?"
The figure lurched closer, its eyes vacant and bloodshot. He could see the decaying flesh around its mouth, the yellowed teeth bared in a grotesque snarl.
"Okay, seriously, not funny," Adrian said, taking a step back. "I don't have time for this."
The figure lunged.
This time, there was no escape. The figure crashed into him, its weight sending him sprawling onto his back. He gasped as the rotting figure landed directly on top of him, pinning him to the ground. The stench of decay filled his nostrils, and he could feel the figure's ragged breath on his face.
Panic surged through him. He thrashed, bucking his hips and kicking his legs, desperate to get the thing off him. Finally, he managed to land a solid kick to its chest. The figure grunted and recoiled, giving him a precious second to shove it away.
He scrambled back, his eyes darting around for something – anything – to use as a weapon. Leaning against a wall, half-buried under a pile of debris, was a metal baseball bat. He lunged for it, his fingers closing around the grip.
The figure scrambled to its feet, its eyes fixed on him, and lunged again.
Adrian swung the bat with all his might, connecting with the side of the figure's head. There was a sickening crack, and the figure crumpled to the ground, unmoving.
He stood there, panting, the bat still clutched in his hand. He stared at the fallen figure, his mind racing. He had just killed… something. A zombie? Was that even possible?
He didn't feel guilt, not exactly. It wasn't like he had killed a person. But he didn't feel… anything. Just a strange numbness, a disconnect from the reality of what had just happened.
This is real, he thought. This is actually happening.
He took a shaky breath and forced himself to focus. He needed to get out of here.
As he made his way out of the building, two more figures emerged from the shadows, drawn by the sound of the commotion. They were just as grotesque as the first, their bodies decaying, their eyes filled with a hunger that chilled him to the bone.
He gripped the bat tighter, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He couldn't stay and fight. He needed to find a way out.
He charged towards the nearest figure, swinging the bat in a wide arc. The figure stumbled back, giving him an opening. He didn't stop to see if it was down. He sprinted past it, towards the hallway.
He could hear the figures shuffling behind him, their groans echoing through the ruined building. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw them gaining on him.
He burst through a doorway, into what looked like an office. Desks were overturned, papers scattered everywhere. He scrambled over the debris, searching for another exit.
He spotted a window, boarded up with wooden planks. He didn't hesitate. He swung the bat, smashing through the planks, sending splinters flying.
As he peered out the window, he spotted a large, ripped tarp stretched out below, likely used to cover some construction materials. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. He took a deep breath and clambered through the opening, dropping to the tarp below.
The tarp gave way with a loud rip, cushioning his fall but not entirely negating the impact. He landed hard, pain shooting up his legs, but he didn't stop. He scrambled to his feet and ran, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the building.
Finally, he stumbled out of the alleyway, into the ruined streets. The city was a wasteland, choked with debris and the stench of death. He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
He quickly realized that the main roads were swarming with those… things. He could hear their moans and see their shuffling forms in the distance. He knew he had to avoid them if he wanted to survive.
He stuck to the side streets, weaving through the rubble and shadows, trying to stay out of sight. He passed overturned cars, their windows shattered, their bodies rusted and decaying. He saw tattered posters flapping in the wind, their images faded and unrecognizable.
Everything was broken. Everything was dead.
After what felt like hours, he spotted something on the ground, half-buried in the dirt. He knelt down and brushed the grime off, his heart pounding in his chest.
It was a sign. A street sign.
He wiped away the last of the dirt, he froze and his eyes widening as he read the faded letters.
"Nagazora City, 2nd Street."