It was a day like any other in this forgotten present. The streets, once paved and bustling with the rhythm of modern civilization, were now silent—claimed by creeping vines, cracked asphalt, and trees growing defiantly through glass and steel. Nature, as if insulted by centuries of subjugation, was slowly reclaiming her throne.

He walked alone, boots crunching over debris and moss, eyes scanning each building with the instinctual caution of someone who’d walked the world without another soul for far too long. His path led him to an old supermarket—its faded logo sun-bleached, its automatic doors jammed open permanently.

Inside, silence reigned. Dust floated in sunbeams that pierced through broken skylights. Empty shelves stretched in rows like forgotten monuments. Tattered food packages, expired drinks, plastic wrappers—they were all remnants of a vanished world. He moved methodically, collecting what little was still usable: canned goods, batteries, iodine tablets.

Then, a sound.

A sudden clatter—sharp and unmistakable. It broke the air like a slap, echoing from the back rooms. In a place where nothing should move, it was a sound that didn’t belong.

Knife in hand, he crept forward. Past the freezers. Past the storage aisles. Toward the staff-only hallway at the rear. His body moved instinctively: slow steps, controlled breath, hand steady on the door. He pressed against the cold metal and eased it open, expecting a raccoon. Maybe a malfunctioning drone. Maybe a trap.

But what he found instead froze him in place. There, collapsed beside a half-eaten cup of instant ramen, was a young woman.

She was lying on her side, limbs curled awkwardly, her body draped in worn clothing torn at the edges. Her skin was pale, her lips dry. Her hair, lavender and tangled, fell across her cheek. The rising and falling of her chest was shallow—barely noticeable. She had clearly lost consciousness from hunger, exhaustion, or both.

A single plastic fork had slipped from her fingers.

Cautiously, he approached and knelt beside her. She didn’t stir. He checked for signs of life—pulse, breath, tension in her limbs—and found enough to confirm that she was still alive, if only just. Around her neck hung a lanyard, and on it, a cracked university ID badge.

Lara

Age: 19. University student. The photo showed a much livelier version of her: bright smile, youthful glow, unaware of what the world would soon become. She didn’t belong here. Not in this place. Not in this reality.

She stirred weakly, a small sound escaping her lips—half a breath, half a dream. Her fingers twitched. She was still in the fight, barely. Fragile, broken, but alive.