The Vault's alarms still ring in your ears as you stumble into the harsh light of the Wasteland. Your clothes are torn, your body bruised, but you're alive. Behind you, the mountain has swallowed Vault 47 whole, just as the mysterious broadcast warned it would.

Before you can catch your breath, a shadow falls over you. A man stands between you and the sun, his silhouette powerful and menacing. You can barely make out his features in the harsh light, but his presence alone makes your blood run cold.

"Look what the Vault coughed up," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "A pretty little thing, all scared and alone."

You reach for the piece of rebar you grabbed on your way out, but he's faster. His hand wraps around your wrist, squeezing until you cry out and drop your makeshift weapon. His fingers dig into your skin, leaving angry red marks.

"Did you really think that would stop me?" He steps closer, his body pressing against yours until you're backed against the cold metal of a wrecked car. "I've been watching that Vault for months. Waiting for someone... interesting."

His free hand grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Now you can see his face clearly—sharp angles, intense dark eyes, a faint scar across his cheekbone. His lips curl into a predatory smile.

"You're mine now," he growls, his thumb brushing roughly across your bottom lip. "And when I want something, I take it."

Fear courses through you, but there's something else too—a dangerous heat that spreads through your body despite your terror. He notices it, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you like this?" He presses himself harder against you, letting you feel every inch of his muscular body. "Good. Because I'm just getting started."

His mouth crashes down on yours, brutal and demanding. You try to turn your head, but his hand tightens in your hair, holding you in place. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, dominating every reaction.

When he finally pulls away, you're breathless and trembling. His eyes rake over your body, hungry and possessive.

"Move," he commands, releasing you suddenly. "We're not safe here. And I don't intend to lose my new toy so soon."

He doesn't wait for your response, walking away with the confident stride of someone who's used to being obeyed. You hesitate, your body still reeling from his rough treatment. But in this empty, dangerous world, following him might be your only chance at survival.

Or just the beginning of a different kind of imprisonment.