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THE LOST : After The End

In a post-apocalyptic world, you'll find four main types of people. Those who fight with all their might "the hunters." The ones who leech and exploit others "the pests." The predators, who see everyone as prey. And lastly, we have "the survivors," the resilient ones who never give up. Everyone often fits into one category, but it's hard to determine which one Maya falls into. She's not exactly a fighter, considering leaving her room was a chore even before the apocalypse. A predator? No way—she's always been a pushover. You might think she's a survivor, but that's laughable. She'd rather die from starvation than resort to scavenging. So, how should we categorize her? leeche? Nope. Perhaps a new category is needed: "The Lost"—those struggling to find their place in a shattered world."

Donna_Sheldon · Ciencia y ficción
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81 Chs

CHAPTER 43

Alex immediately reached for the gun holstered at his hip.

"Identify yourself!" a voice barked again, sharp and commanding, echoing off the tunnel walls.

Alex didn't move, his stance rigid, and for a moment, I thought he might try something stupid.

"We're not infected!" he called back, his voice steady despite the tension rolling off him. "Just two survivors trying to make it to the next station!"

The light wavered slightly, and I could hear footsteps approaching, steady and deliberate.

"Keep your hands where we can see them," the voice ordered.

Alex raised his hands slowly, the flashlight in one of them casting jagged shadows on the walls. I stayed behind him, trembling, my fever making the world spin around me. My leg throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a dull, relentless ache that I couldn't ignore.