Black. Smoky. Charred. I can barely smell a thing. What's going on? My head slams into the hard, dirty cement floor. The hand crushing my head is huge, grinding my thick dreads into the ground. My ears buzz, drowning out everything but the muffled screams to my left. My hands, barely visible, are blackened—charred and fragile, like they might crumble with the slightest movement.
I manage to turn my head, and what I see is beyond anything I could have imagined. A woman, crucified on an enormous obsidian cross, her life slipping away as she screams loud enough to shake the heavens. No one—no one—deserves this kind of fate. What kind of madness is this?
I try to get up.
And try.
And try again.
But everything blurs, vanishing into nothing but trash bags and the stench of piss and weed. What the hell is going on? Who am I? My vision is a haze, dirt clinging to my eyes, making it worse. I can't stand. Not yet.
But I force myself to my feet, my head still spinning. I take a deep breath and try to make sense of where I am. I, whoever I am, am trapped in a dark alley, surrounded by garbage and stray cats. There's no time to dwell on how I feel—I can't afford that. I need to survive.
I muscle my way out of the alley, and the world that greets me is a shock. An industrial city sprawls before me, filled with all kinds of people. Criminals, old beggars, and law enforcers beating civilians into the pavement like they're doing the world a favor. It makes my blood boil to see people getting away with this.
The sun blazes overhead, cooking my already drained body, but then I catch something—something in the air. A smell. It's warm, delicious, and I need it. Desperation pushes me forward. I probably won't get any food, but I don't care. I follow that scent until I stumble upon a place called "Grub N Dash."
The place is bare-bones—empty, with a suspicious vibe. But I'm too hungry to care. Outside the joint, an old man catches my eye. I don't know why. His long beard hangs down over droopy eyes that seem ready to fall out of his head. His back is hunched, his large hat chipped, and his dirty suit looks like it's been through a war. He stands there with a deadpan expression, utterly uninterested in the world around him.
I plan to walk past him, mind my own business. But then, his eyes snap toward me, locking onto mine. Without warning, he grips my arm. For someone who looks so frail, his hands feel like they could crush me.
"Sir?" I stammer as his grip tightens. He doesn't answer, just breathes heavily against my chest. Then, finally, he speaks.
"You... You ain't like em other whippersnappers." His voice is gruff, full of something I can't place.
I have no idea what he's talking about, but all I want is food. "Sir, I-I don't know what you mean. Can I go now?"
His grip tightens further, and darkness starts creeping in around my vision.
Before my body gives up on itself, the old man finally lets go. He straightens up, his bones creaking as if he's been sitting there for an eternity. "My apologies, boy. My old senses... they were tellin' me somethin'. Somethin' important. You just seem... familiar."
My eyes dart back and forth. None of this makes any sense. This old man, who looks like he's in his eighties, is holding me up when all I can think about is food. My patience is wearing thin. He's blocking me from finding out what's behind those gates, from getting the food I desperately need.
"Sir, let go of me. I haven't eaten anything in God knows how long. I just need *something* to keep me going," I say, my voice raw with frustration.The old man lets out a heavy, raspy sigh. "Do ya wish to hear me out over lunch, lad?" His breath is gruff, but the offer makes me pause.
