Revelations and Answers (Part - 1)

In a distant corner of the world, alien to Ethan's experience, a lone figure sat at the edge of a skyscraper, his legs hanging over the bustling city streets below. He gazed off into the waning sun, lost in contemplation. The breeze rustled through his dark hair, and his utter stillness made him seem like an organic extension of the city's ever-evolving skyline.

The city, once a maze of steel and concrete, resembled a forsaken lover. Neglected and without anyone to care for its allure, it withered into age and destitution, its former charm fading away. Nature had begun to reclaim its territory, pushing back against the concrete and steel that had long dominated the landscape. The relentless march of time had relegated humanity from its pinnacle to the lower rungs of the survival hierarchy. Peril and uncertainty lurked around every corner, casting a shadow over daily life.

However, humans were known for their resilience. Even in the face of adversity and against seemingly insurmountable odds, they persevered. Just like the individuals laboring diligently beneath his feet, they adapted to the new reality and sought ways to eke out a living in this ever-changing, unforgiving world.

Suddenly, he started, as if waking from a reverie, and muttered, "I lost three."

A lady lounged on a nearby sofa, tattoos, and piercings adorning her body, giving her a rebellious and formidable appearance. Yet one particular tattoo drew the most attention – a double-headed snake coiling around her neck and resting in the hollow of her throat.

"Soldiers?" she lazily inquired, her voice carrying an air of nonchalance.

He shook his head. "No."

"Captains?"

He remained silent, causing her to sit up with a frown on her face. "Generals?"

At last, his voice broke through the silence, laced with suppressed humor. "Minions."

A server, tray laden with drinks in hand, arrived at his side. The young teenager, standing beside him, maintained a stoic posture, his gaze unwavering as he stared straight ahead. However, his trembling hands, the only betrayal of his otherwise composed facade, faltered slightly as they held the tray.

Accepting a glass of juice, the figure dismissed the server with a nonchalant gesture. As the server bowed and turned to depart, a cascade of sunlight streamed through the broken windows, illuminating a hole in the server's shoulder. The injury appeared as if a rod had been thrust straight through, the surrounding tissue inflamed and angry, all without a single drop of blood.

"The canon fodder? Since when did you pay attention to those?" the girl asked, confusion evident.

"I always cared for the special ones and these ones are extra special," he said, lips spreading wide into an uncontrollable smile. "They've crossed paths with Ethan."

The girl, fully alert, rose from her seat. "Are you sure?"

"Without a doubt."

Approaching him, she gazed down at him, her face etched with concern. "Would you like me to—"

"I'll handle it," he interjected, a smile playing on his lips. "I know the perfect candidate."

**********

Four grueling days had slipped by since Ethan's daring escape, leaving him stranded in a world gripped by unrelenting horror. Every moment felt like a never-ending tumble into chaos, his fragile hope waning with each passing minute. He staggered through desolate streets, a mere wisp of his former self, battered and bruised from countless confrontations with the relentless zombies that roamed the forsaken alleys.

Every step he took was an agonizing ordeal; it was as if the very ground beneath him had declared war on his existence. His once robust body now felt like a traitor, teetering on the brink of utter surrender. Yet, no respite loomed on the horizon as he clung to life by the thinnest of threads.

Finally, Ethan sought refuge in a decrepit and derelict building, its crumbling walls offering a false sanctuary in a city that had long succumbed to despair. With the last reserves of his dwindling strength, he carved out a small corner in the shadows, huddling there, a monument to human frailty. He was a shattered soul, his emotions catching up to the grim reality that surrounded him, like a merciless storm.

This twisted world seemed to have lost its sanity, every inch of its landscape marred and battered by the torment it had endured. There was no respite, no sanctuary to be found in this unforgiving expanse.

An unyielding hunger gnawed at Ethan's insides. In the harsh domain, there were no provisions to be scavenged, no roofs to provide shelter. The towering structures that once symbolized human achievement had transformed into colossal monuments of despair.

He clung to wakefulness, aware that every moment of rest could be his last. Exhaustion and fear wrestled within him, a bitter conflict that threatened to shatter his grip on reality.

As his eyes resisted the encroaching darkness, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions whirled within him. Dreams and fractured memories danced on the edges of his consciousness, elusive echoes of a life he had once known but that now felt impossibly distant. Despair was an all-encompassing force, tightening its grip on his weary soul. The city remained pitiless, a dark and unforgiving dominion that tolerated no weakness in those who dared to tread its forsaken streets.

*****

Ethan awoke to an unfamiliar roof, sung and warm in a welcoming blanket. The cold, unforgiving concrete had been replaced with an unexpected comfort. After the harrowing days, the small comforts felt like bliss. He felt a strong desire to remain cocooned, to forget the harshness of reality.

However, reality refused to stay at bay for long. With a jolt, Ethan sat up, his eyes darting around the surroundings.

Before him sat a teenager, a few years younger than himself, his face a canvas of youthful curiosity. A mop of chestnut brown, fell over his forehead, a stark contrast to the well-kept appearance of the rest of his appearance.

"Good morning," he greeted Ethan with a brightness that seemed to defy the grim world outside.

"Who are you?" Ethan asked in a wary tone.

The young stranger's response was just as bright as his demeanor. "I'm Liam."

"Why did you bring me here?" Ethan asked, his wariness heightening. It did not seem like Liam's bright smile had any place in the dark world.

"I found you hiding away by the side of the building, unconscious. Honestly, you looked deader than the zombies out there. So, I thought I'd bring you here and help you out. Nice place right?" Liam's eyes sparkled with pride. "I scouted it, tidied up, and hauled everything in myself."

Indeed, it was a nice place. The room, though small, exuded a sense of homey comfort. One wall was adorned with neatly arranged cooking utensils, while the other held a display of neatly folded clothes and a selection of well-worn shoes.

Liam, seemingly unfazed by Ethan's silence, continued with an almost childlike enthusiasm, "You must be hungry." He promptly got up, eager to help.

"I'm not eating anything—" Ethan's words faltered as Liam lifted the lid, releasing a tantalizing cloud of fragrant steam that enveloped him.

Ethan's stomach responded with a low, rumbling growl, and his mouth flooded with saliva. If there had been even a shred of strength left in his battered body, he would have lunged at the bowl, devouring its contents with a voracious appetite, even if it were Marcus holding out the bowl to him.

Once the warm bowl reached his hands, a cacophony of warnings and protests surged through his mind. Yet, the enticing aroma overruled all opposition. He swallowed the food with fervor, the scalding heat creating a euphoric sensation on his tongue.

"I'm not going to steal it," Liam laughed. "Eat slowly. I made a lot so you should have enough."

Ethan perked up at the prospect of more food and increased his speed, leaving no morsel behind. He was determined to savor every bite and relish the food.

"Why did you help me?" Ethan inquired between bites, his heart lighter after a hearty meal.

"Because you're a Prime," Liam responded with reverence.

"I'm a what?" Ethan asked, juices dripping down the corner of his mouth. The term didn't trigger any recollections, and it left him puzzled. Generally, even without his memories, Ethan could navigate and comprehend the world through a sense of familiarity, but there were still many things that eluded his understanding. Zombies were a major enigma, and a new term just emerged.

"A Prime," Liam repeated as though it should be obvious. "Well, a Genesis Prime for now, but still a Prime."

"Okay," Ethan said, struggling to make sense of the word. He decided to shelve the question for later. "But that doesn't answer why you helped me."

Liam's radiant smile dimmed, and he fidgeted, absently scratching at his shoulder. His white shirt shifted, revealing a disturbing sight—an expanse of damaged tissue and a hole in his shoulder, neither healing nor bleeding.

Ethan's eyes widened, and he shot up from his seat, causing his bowl to crash to the floor and scatter remnants of food across both of them. "You're a... a zombie."