The sky was burning.
Flames crawled across the horizon, staining the clouds crimson and gold. Ash fell like snow, coating the bones of cities long dead. I ran through the ruins—lungs clawing for air, heartbeat pounding in rhythm with distant gunfire.
Sirens wailed somewhere far away, swallowed by the thunder of collapsing towers.
Earth had become a graveyard of its own making.
Each nation had dug its tomb with the weapons they once built to protect themselves.
And I—Okhel Chaim—was just one more ghost running through the wreckage.
"Ha… ha… ha…" I gasped between ragged breaths. "Fuck… they're still chasing me."
Boots hammered the broken pavement behind me—soldiers, shouting orders, their voices raw with exhaustion and hate.
All this for a bag of food.
All this because I refused to die quietly.
The air stank of burnt iron and blood. My legs screamed to stop, but I couldn't. Not yet.
Then I saw it—the yawning mouth of a shattered subway station, half-swallowed by rubble. Without thinking, I slipped inside. The world above disappeared behind a curtain of smoke.
And that's when I saw them.
Six children.
Huddled in the dark, their faces pale and hollow, their small bodies trembling beneath thin blankets of dust.
When their eyes met mine, they screamed.
"Haah!"
They stumbled backward, fear written across every inch of them.
I raised both hands. "Easy. I'm not here to hurt you."
They didn't believe me—not at first. They had seen too many monsters in human skin. But then one of them, a boy no older than ten, whispered:
"Mister… do you have food?"
That voice—small, shaking, hopeful—cut through everything.
I hesitated. Then sighed. "Food, huh?"
I pulled the strap from my shoulder and tossed them the bag I'd stolen from the military outpost hours ago.
"Here. Eat. Quick."
They didn't need to be told twice. They tore the bag open, devouring stale bread and half-warm juice like it was divine nectar. Their hands trembled. Their eyes watered.
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Heh… greedy little brats."
There was no anger in it—just something that almost felt like peace.
That was why the soldiers wanted me dead.
I was a thief—a ghost in a dying world. I stole from the strong to feed the weak.
Maybe that was naïve. Maybe that was the last scrap of humanity I hadn't lost.
The silence pressed heavy, broken only by the children's soft chewing.
Then—
Crack.
The ceiling moaned. Dust fell in a slow cascade. My instincts screamed.
"Shit!"
I didn't think. I just moved.
I threw myself over them as the world came down.
Pain like molten iron tore through my body. The air fled my lungs. My bones screamed as the rubble crushed me.
But I didn't cry out.
My last sight was the children's terrified faces—and for the first time in years, I felt something like warmth.
At least… they'll live.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
And yet—
Something was wrong.
Because even after my breath faded…
Even after my heart stopped…
…I was still thinking.
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