After the coma

The desolate cityscape stretched before Hito, a grim reflection of the turmoil within him. Twisted metal skeletons of buildings clawed at the ash-streaked sky, and the once-vibrant streets were choked with the debris of a shattered civilization. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the desolate panorama. "I'll kill every single one of those parasites," he vowed, his voice ragged with emotion. "No matter the cost."

Memories flickered through his mind, a stark contrast to the wasteland surrounding him. He saw himself on a seemingly ordinary Monday morning, the insistent beeping of the alarm clock a rude awakening. Reaching for his phone on the bedside table, he squinted at the harsh glow – 6:00 AM. A notification displayed a chilling message: "First dose of medicine."

Hito dragged himself out of bed, a wave of dizziness washing over him. His legs felt like lead as he shuffled to the bathroom. Reaching the doorway, a sudden tightness constricted his chest, stealing his breath. Panic surged through him as he clawed at the air, his heart hammering like a trapped bird. He fumbled through the cabinet under the sink, hands trembling as his fingers desperately grasped for the familiar syringe. The cool plastic felt like a lifeline as he injected himself with the medication. Relief flooded his system, a temporary reprieve from the constant battle raging within his body.

"Do I have to live like this forever?" he muttered, slumping against the counter with a defeated sigh. This daily ritual, this dependence on medication, felt like a cruel joke. Hito suffered from a rare condition – his blood cells, the very lifeblood of his existence, appeared ravaged by some unseen enemy. This parasitic illness left him weak and fragile, a constant shadow threatening to engulf him. The only treatment, a three-times-a- day regimen of medication, was a constant reminder of his precarious existence. It came at a staggering cost, a financial burden that threatened to crush his family.

A familiar voice cut through his reverie. "Hito-chan! Breakfast is ready!" his mother called from downstairs. "I'm coming!" he responded, forcing a smile as he washed his face. Descending the stairs, the frown returned. His mother's eyes held a deep well of worry as she scrutinized him. "You look pale, honey. What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "Almost died again this morning," he mumbled, grabbing his lunchbox from the counter. "Twice in a row." Every step towards the door felt heavy, a weight he carried not just physically, but emotionally.

His mother flinched at his words, the memory of his diagnosis a fresh wound in her heart. "Doctor," she had pleaded, tears streaming down her face, "there has to be another way. He's my son, my only child. I'll do anything to save him." The doctor's response was a stark reality check: "The treatment is incredibly expensive. It would be financially crippling for most families. Honestly, the most economical option at this point might be..." He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

Stepping out into the crisp morning air, Hito felt the world shift around him. The usual hustle and bustle of school mornings was replaced by an unsettling silence. As he entered the schoolyard, the playground, once a symphony of laughter and chatter, remained eerily quiet. Every eye turned towards him, a silent accusatory gaze that sent shivers down his spine.

"There he is," a hushed whisper rippled through the crowd. "The one with the...disease."

The murmurs morphed into taunts as he walked by. "Freak," someone spat. "He should just die and save his family the trouble." Hito clenched his fists, anger warring with shame. This treatment, this life-saving medication, ostracized him as much as it saved him. He was a walking medical anomaly, a constant reminder of mortality.

Seeking solace in the familiar routine of classes offered little reprieve. The teacher's drone became background noise as Hito retreated into himself. He didn't hate life, but school had become a daily gauntlet of stares and whispered cruelty. Every raised hand, every question answered, felt like a battle cry against his isolation.

Then came the jeers, the cruel taunts that seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed emotional armor. The laughter that erupted after a simple question about his name felt like a physical blow. Akio, the school bully, reveled in his misery, twisting a harmless question into a weapon. Hito's frustration boiled over, a sharp retort escaping his lips. Before he could regret it, Akio loomed over him, a physical manifestation of the simmering tension.

The bell's shrill cry signaled the end of the school day, a release for most but a prelude to dread for Hito. Avoiding Akio was a daily ritual, a desperate dance around a brewing storm. Today, his efforts seemed futile. As he exited the school grounds, a sickeningly familiar voice echoed through the deserted street. Akio and his posse, a gaggle of smirking shadows, emerged from an alleyway, blocking Hito's path.

Panic clawed at Hito's throat. His breaths became shallow as he scanned his escape routes, all dead ends. Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in his gut. Akio sauntered forward, a cruel smile plastered on his face. He brandished a rusty baseball bat, the metal glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun.

Hito bolted. His body, weakened by his illness, protested with every desperate step. The pounding of his heart drowned out the world around him, a relentless drumbeat urging him forward. But his pursuers were relentless. The laughter echoing behind him fueled his terror, a chilling reminder of his vulnerability.

His lungs burned, his legs screamed in protest, but Hito dared not stop. He weaved through the deserted streets, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could hear them gaining on him, the heavy thud of their boots against the pavement a terrifying symphony of his impending doom.

Just as he thought he could outrun them no further, a sharp crack echoed through the air. Pain erupted in his head, blinding him momentarily. The world tilted, the ground rushing up to meet him. He collapsed in a heap, the taste of blood metallic on his tongue. Akio stood over him, the bat held high, a triumphant smirk etched across his face.

The world faded in and out. Sirens wailed in the distance, a faint melody lost in the haze of pain. With a final surge of defiance, Hito lifted his head, his vision blurring. "Damn you," he rasped, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. "Even if you win, you'll never understand what it's like to live like this."

The world dissolved into darkness. The next time Hito opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sterile white of a hospital room. Bewilderment washed over him. "Am I dead?" he croaked, his voice hoarse. The rhythmic beeping of a machine and the steady drip of an IV answered him. This wasn't heaven. But it wasn't the life he knew either.

He was alone. Panic surged through him again, a desperate cry escaping his lips. But the room remained empty. He fumbled for the call button, his thin frame trembling. As he waited, a chilling realization dawned on him. Where was everyone?

Hito's world tilted on its axis as the mysterious girl in futuristic armor dragged him into the speeding van. The silence inside was broken only by the rhythmic hum of the engine and the frantic gasps escaping his lips. The adrenaline from the escape was fading fast, replaced by a dull ache throbbing in his bitten leg.

"You guys gotta shoot me," he rasped, his voice raw with fear. "I was bitten. I'll turn."

The man behind the wheel, a towering figure with a shaved head and a cybernetic eye gleaming red under the dim light, threw back his head and laughed. A hearty, booming laugh that filled the cramped space and momentarily startled Hito into silence.

"Relax, kid," the driver boomed, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Those things out there? They ain't zombies. Chill out, we'll explain everything."

Hito stared at him, bewildered. The girl continued to fire out the back window, a relentless barrage taking down the infected with pinpoint accuracy. Her movements were precise, practiced, a warrior honed for a brutal reality Hito couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Finally, they skidded to a halt in front of a massive, imposing building that seemed to rise out of the ruins like a defiant metal fist. The girl, her armor sleek and black, holstered her weapon and turned to him.

"Get down," she said curtly, her voice a low whisper.

Hito scrambled out, his legs wobbly, his mind reeling. He looked around, taking in the sight of heavily armed figures patrolling the perimeter, their expressions grim. This wasn't a hospital. This wasn't a military base. It was something else entirely, a fortress carved out of the ruins, a beacon of hope in this desolate wasteland.

A tall figure, cloaked in a dark robe, emerged from the building. Their face was obscured by shadows, but a sense of authority emanated from them. The driver and the girl bowed their heads in respect.

"Another one," the figure rasped, their voice surprisingly young. "Bring him in."

Hito, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, allowed them to lead him inside. Every step echoed through the sterile corridors, a hollowness that mirrored the growing dread in his stomach. He had questions, a million of them, but his voice seemed to have deserted him.

Finally, they reached a brightly lit room filled with holographic displays and complex machinery. The cloaked figure gestured towards a chair. "Sit," they commanded.

Hito sank into the chair, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. He stole a glance around, his eyes falling on a large screen displaying a ravaged world, continents consumed by a creeping red mass.

"What happened?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Where is everyone?"

The cloaked figure sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. "The Parasites," they began, their voice devoid of emotion. "They came five years ago. A silent invasion, microscopic and deadly. They infected the population, turning people into those…things you saw outside."

Hito's mind reeled. Five years? The world he remembered, the schoolyard taunts, his mother's worry – a lifetime ago, swallowed by this monstrous reality.

"But...how? Why?" he stammered.

The figure leaned forward, their voice dropping to a low murmur. "We don't know for sure. But there are theories. Some say they're a weapon, others a plague. One thing's certain – they're ruthless and efficient. Humanity has been pushed to the brink."

Hito looked down at his bandaged leg, a fresh wave of fear washing over him. "And me? The bite?"

The figure paused, then met his gaze. "We've been studying the Parasites, searching for a cure. Your condition…your rare illness…it may hold the key."

Hito's breath hitched. His illness, a constant burden, a source of isolation, might be the key to saving what remained of humanity? A flicker of hope ignited within him, a fragile ember in the darkness.

"But what does that mean for me?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

The figure remained silent, their shadowed face unreadable. "That, my friend," they said finally, "is a story for another day."