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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 · Ficção Científica
Classificações insuficientes
85 Chs

CHAPTER 39

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, stretching shadows across the fractured asphalt like fingers reaching for something they would never grasp. My fever blurred everything—the world around me smudged, its edges bleeding into one another. The throbbing pain in my leg was relentless, each step a cruel reminder that I wasn't built for this.

A brutal, unyielding truth: I wasn't cut out for this.

Not for this broken world, where survival meant more than just breathing. Where the rules had changed, and I was always a step behind, paying for it in blood and misery.

"Keep walking," Alex said, his voice sharp.

I flinched, nodding automatically. Obedient. Always. Fucking. Obedient.

Because my life rested in his hands, and if he so much as decided I wasn't worth the trouble, I would be gone—snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

But was that really something to fear?