Jared wiped the sweat from his brow, though it did little good. The air was thick with heat and the acrid stench of chemicals, the sky a permanent, sunless gray. He adjusted his breathing mask, checking the filter. Two days left before it needed replacing. Two days before he had to barter for another or risk choking on the air itself.

  He shuffled down the cracked remains of what had once been a street, past skeletal buildings that leaned in on themselves, their windows blackened and empty. Entire districts of the city were abandoned, reclaimed by dust and creeping vines mutated by the toxins in the air. Some buildings bore the scorch marks of past riots, others were nothing more than heaps of rubble, picked clean by desperate scavengers long ago. The market ahead buzzed with quiet desperation—hushed voices haggling over bottles of half-clean water, synthetic protein bars, and packets of dubious medication. Armed guards watched from the shadows, waiting for someone to make a wrong move.

  Jared kept his head down. He wasn’t here to cause trouble. He just needed supplies. His credits were running low, but he had one last item of value: a small tin of painkillers, scavenged from an abandoned clinic weeks ago. He approached a vendor—a thin woman with hollow eyes and a scar across her cheek.

  "Water," he said, holding up the tin.

  She scoffed, arms crossed. "That it?"

  "Four bottles."

  She let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You wish. Two."

  "Three. It’s all I’ve got," Jared countered, tightening his grip on the tin. He knew better than to show desperation, but his throat burned, and he didn’t have time to scavenge elsewhere.

  She eyed him, then the tin, then the guards hovering nearby. "Fine. Three. And don’t come back begging tomorrow."

  "Wouldn’t dream of it."

  He handed over the tin and grabbed the three grimy bottles she shoved toward him. The water inside was tinted yellow, but it would keep him alive a little longer.

  A few stalls away, Mira clutched her last few credits, her stomach twisting with hunger. She had gone three days without eating, saving every scrap for her children. Their small faces, gaunt and hollow-eyed, haunted her thoughts. There was a time when food was not a luxury, when she could walk into a store and leave with a full basket. Now, every transaction was a battle, every meal a hard-fought victory.

  She approached a vendor selling stale bread and powdered meal packets. "Please," she whispered, holding out her credits. "Just enough for my kids. They haven’t eaten."

  The vendor barely spared her a glance. "That won’t get you much. A single packet."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "I—" she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Is there anything else? Anything at all?"

  "Unless you have something to trade, that’s the price."

  Mira’s hands shook as she took the small packet. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to be. She prayed, as she always did, that tomorrow would be better. That something—anything—would change. That they wouldn’t have to live like this forever.

  Then the scream split the air. Gunfire erupted. Chaos swallowed the market whole.

  Jared ducked behind the stall as bullets whizzed past. His fingers closed around a rusted metal pipe, his only means of defense. A raider loomed over him, wild-eyed, wielding a jagged knife. Jared swung the pipe, catching the man’s wrist. The knife clattered to the ground. He didn’t hesitate—he grabbed it, plunged it deep. The raider collapsed, gasping.

  Jared didn’t look back. He grabbed the water bottles and ran. He weaved through the alleyways, past collapsed bridges and shattered monorail tracks, his heart pounding. Every day was a gamble. Every decision could be his last. It had been years since the world crumbled, since governments fell and corporations seized what little remained, turning survival into a commodity. The few settlements that still stood were ruled by those with the most guns, the most resources. Everyone else fought for scraps, for air that barely sustained them, for water that poisoned them slowly.

  Mira clutched the food packet to her chest and fled. She had no weapon, no means of defense—only desperation. She didn’t stop running until she reached the crumbling remains of what had once been an apartment complex, where her children waited. She stepped inside, pressing a hand to her ribs, feeling the sharp ache of hunger gnawing at her insides. But she didn’t eat. She couldn’t. The packet was for them.

  Jared reached his shelter, an abandoned storage room inside a half-collapsed building. His friend, Caleb, was waiting, slumped against the wall. He looked worse than before—his breathing shallow, his eyes yellowing. The mask hanging loosely around his neck had been expired for over a week, and the air was taking its toll. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

  "Any luck?"

  Jared set the water down. "Got three bottles. Enough for a couple more days."

  Caleb chuckled weakly, the sound dry and brittle. "Days. Like that means anything anymore."

  Jared didn’t respond. He didn’t have the energy to argue, to pretend that any of this was leading somewhere better. Caleb had once been well off, successful even. Now, he was just another man waiting to die. Jared had seen the signs before—sluggishness, yellowing eyes, the vacant stare of someone already half gone.

  "I used to have a place by the waterfront," Caleb murmured, his gaze unfocused. "Big windows. Could see the whole city. Used to sit there with a drink, thinking I had it all figured out. Thought nothing could touch me."

  Jared leaned against the wall, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. "And now?"

  "Now I can’t even breathe without it burning." Caleb laughed, a hollow sound. "Guess it won’t matter soon."

  Jared frowned. Something about the way he said it made his stomach twist. He glanced around and saw it—a bottle of rust remover on its side, the cap missing. His throat tightened.

  He knew what Caleb had done, but he didn’t speak it into existence. It was just another side effect of reality. Another body that would remain where it fell because no one was left to care.

  Outside, the poisoned wind howled through the ruins of a world long lost. The air carried distant screams, the occasional crack of gunfire, the whispered promise of another violent night.

  Jared knew, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before there was nothing left to fight for. Mira prayed that wasn’t true. That there was still a future, somehow, waiting beyond the ash and ruin.