Adam wandered through the dead city, surrounded by debris and metallic trash. The place had been deteriorating without human to take care of it—broken buildings and collapsed bridges stood as silent witnesses to its decay.
The overwhelming stillness and emptiness gnawed at him. His mind was always racing, filled with endless thoughts. But was he intelligent? Not at all. If he were, he would have already taken care of everything in his past.
Just an average person, as always... Not that it was a bad thing. Even in mediocrity, there was still a uniqueness to every person, if an average person who screwed up everything but no.
But still, something had to be done, didn't it?
For hours, he walked, though it felt like days. The air was dry and hot. There was no sun, only a faint, diffused light filtering through thick clouds. The city was swallowed by hollow walls, ceilings stretching endlessly above, creating a liminal maze of concrete hallways and empty rooms.
His tongue was dry—hours had passed, yet not a single drop of water could be found. His legs ached with fatigue; he hadn't walked this long in ages, not since the comfort of his old apartment.
Every bead of sweat evaporated instantly,his body cool him,but fails to realise its only intensifying his thirst.
The city felt endless, like a looping nightmare. "This can't be happening," he grumbled, exhausted. "Am I seriously going to die here?" His skin felt saggy and dry, folding in on itself.
The thought that this might be a dream had long since faded, swallowed by the suffocating weight of reality
A single thought echoed in his mind: Why? Why... why did I have to experience this? Who even orchestrated this?
He continued walking through the liminal space—hallways twisted in impossible ways, staircases leading both up and down, chasms stretching in every direction. Some paths seemed inverted, weird. It was as if the city itself was built for mass producing, and efficiency, or perhaps into something surreal.
Who could create something like this
Then, suddenly—crack.
The ledge beneath him crumbled without warning. His eyes widened in terror as he scrambled to grab onto something—anything—but found nothing within reach. Completely unprepared, he plummeted into the chasm on his left.
As he fell, a pipe jutted out from the wall, breaking his descent for a moment. His shirt caught on it, the fabric straining—before tearing in half.
Adrenaline surged through his veins. I can't die like this! He clung desperately to the pipe, his hands trembling. But his body, untrained and weak, was already reaching its limit. His arms shook violently as he tried to pull himself up, his thumbs scraping against the rough metal until his skin of his fingers split open.
For what felt like hours but was only minutes, he hung there—exhausted, helpless, and full of regret.
Could I have prevented this? he wondered. Or was this just some cruel accident?
His breathing was ragged. His fingers ached. No, no... I—I... it hurts! He hated this. Hated the situation, hated his weakness.
His life had been trash, sure. His home, his routines, everything about him had felt pointless. But at least back then, he was safe. At least he could eat. At least he could drink.
But this?
His grip weakened. He thought of all those calisthenics athletes back in his world—the ones who could raise their legs effortlessly while hanging from a bar.
But he couldn't. He just couldn't. No matter how much adrenaline surged through him, there was a limit to what his body could take.
Then a voice called out.
"Hey!"
It was cheerful, almost unfitting for the situation.
A young man stood above him, wearing a military-style uniform with a number printed on the side (043). Heavy boots, a large backpack, and a pair of goggles resting on his head. He was short, but he carried himself with confidence.
"That's something," the stranger said, grinning. "You look like you need help."
Adam, frustrated but desperate, shot back, "Yes, I need help!"
The young man rummaged through his backpack before tossing something down. "Here, grab this."
It was a grappling hook.
Adam stared at it, then groaned. "Can you help with something more?" There was no way he had the strength to grab from the pipe to the rope.
The young man shrugged. "Sorry, but that's all I can do for ya."
Adam gritted his teeth. No choice, then. Summoning whatever determination he had left, he reached for the rope. His hand nearly slipped—but he caught it, just barely. Inch by inch,then the young man pulled him up.
As Adam finally reached solid ground, he collapsed, panting.
The young man smirked. "Hah! Man, you're so weak... I have no idea how you've survived this long."
Still catching his breath, Adam forced out a simple, "Thanks."
The young man just chuckled, stepping away toward the cliff's edge.
"The name's yoku" He smiled " Yours?"
Huffing and puffing, adam replied " Adam, my name's adam"