Jack finally awoke after a few months of restless care from Reuben. Those months had been marked by tireless effort—Reuben spending countless sleepless nights cleaning wounds, changing blood-soaked bandages, and whispering reassurances to a body that could not respond. On some nights, he would sit beside Jack, recounting fragments of stories from their shared past, his voice tinged with a quiet hope that some part of Jack could still hear him.

  Each gesture, no matter how small, was a reflection of the bond they had forged, one that Reuben clung to as he fought to keep the boy alive. He rationed their meager supplies to keep Jack hydrated and nourished, even sacrificing his own meals at times. Each day had been a battle against infection and fever, with Reuben’s hands trembling not from exhaustion but from the fear of losing the boy he had saved so many years ago.

  As Jack slowly opened his eyes, his blurred vision settled on a man resting on a rugged couch, a rifle in his arms, poised to fire at the slightest disturbance. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptics and lingering smoke, a stark reminder of the chaos that still loomed outside. The distant echo of sporadic gunfire punctuated the silence, mingling with the faint cries of those still struggling to survive in the ruins.

  Shadows of crumbling buildings stretched long against the fading light, and the distant hum of drones patrolling the skies served as an ever-present reminder of the fragile, volatile world that surrounded them. The drones moved in menacing, methodical patterns, their red lights cutting through the encroaching darkness like watchful eyes. Occasionally, the sharp whir of their engines would grow louder, signaling their proximity and spreading a wave of fear among the survivors who hid in the rubble. It wasn’t just surveillance; it was dominance, a silent proclamation that the chaos belonged to those who wielded such relentless technology.

  Jack tried to sit up, but a sharp, searing pain erupted across his torso. He let out a low grunt, the wounds on his body still tender from the long process of healing. The sound roused Reuben from his light slumber. The older man stirred, his eyes snapping open with a soldier's instinct honed from years of survival. He quickly set the rifle aside and rose to his feet, his gaze softening as he looked at Jack.

  "Stay still," Reuben said softly, his voice calm but firm. "You'll reopen your stitches if you keep moving."

  Jack froze at the sound of the voice, the memories rushing back like a tidal wave. He recalled the last thing he had seen before collapsing—the man standing at the doorway, rifle pointed at his chest. In that moment of desperation, he had whispered one name: "Reuben."

  The clarity of that memory struck Jack like a bolt of lightning. His body trembled as he pieced together the events that had led him here. As the full weight of realization settled in, tears began to well in his eyes. He tried to speak, but his throat tightened, the emotions choking him into silence. Finally, as his body gave out and he slumped back onto the makeshift bed, tears streamed freely down his face.

  Images of the torture flooded his mind—every scream, every agonizing moment tied to the memories of being treated like a lab rat. He thought of his parents’ faces, a flicker of warmth swallowed by the suffocating darkness of his past. The weight of what he endured mingled with the faintest glimmer of hope brought by Reuben’s presence, creating a tempest of grief, relief, and exhaustion that he could no longer hold back.

  Reuben stepped closer, his expression flickering between relief and hesitation. His brows furrowed slightly, and his jaw tightened, as though he were bracing himself for the emotions that threatened to surface. His steps were deliberate, each one measured, as if he feared startling Jack or shattering the fragile moment between them. "You remember, don’t you?" he asked gently, his voice carrying an undercurrent of both relief and sorrow. Jack nodded weakly, unable to hold back the sobs that shook his frame.

  The man who stood before him wasn’t just a stranger with a rifle. He was the same man who had pulled him from the ruins years ago, the same man who had been his anchor during the darkest days in the bunker. The flood of emotions was overwhelming—grief, relief, guilt, and a faint glimmer of hope. Jack’s tears fell faster, carving trails down his dirt-streaked face.

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  Reuben crouched beside him, his hands resting lightly on Jack’s shoulders to keep him from straining himself further. "You’ve been through hell, kid," he said quietly. "But you’re alive." It was a bitter truth, one that spoke to the reality of this broken world. Survival had become the sole purpose for many—a desperate clinging to life, even when the destination beyond death remained a terrifying unknown. Whether existence continued or dissolved into nothingness, staying alive for one more day had become the only certainty they had left.

  Jack tried to form words, his voice cracking as he managed to whisper, "I thought... I thought I’d never see you again." His words were raw, his voice thick with the pain of all he had endured.

  Reuben gave a faint, wry smile, his rough features softening. "You’re a tough one, Jack. Always have been. I wouldn’t have let you go so easily."

  Jack, his voice hoarse and shaky, asked, "How did you survive all this—the tyranny, the Noble’s regime? How did you make it?"

  Reuben straightened slightly, his tone bold but laced with an undertone of weariness. "It was tough, no doubt about it. My military experience and training as a medic kept me alive. I knew how to patch myself up, how to stay out of sight when needed, and when to fight back. But it wasn’t without its costs."

  Jack noticed the subtle shift in Reuben’s expression—the way his eyes seemed to cloud over, hinting at unspoken losses. He could see the weight Reuben carried, the people he had failed to save or lost along the way. Jack wanted to ask, to know more, but the heaviness in Reuben’s demeanor stopped him. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, knowing that some wounds were too raw to reopen.

  For what felt like hours, the two sat there in the dim room. Reuben finally broke the silence. "You’ve been out for a long time," he said. "Your wounds were bad—real bad. I wasn’t sure you’d pull through. But here you are, proving me wrong again."

  Jack’s gaze drifted to the scars crisscrossing his arms, the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. "How long?" he asked hoarsely.

  "A couple of months," Reuben replied. "You were in rough shape when I found you. Looked like the whole world had taken a swing at you—and missed just enough to leave you breathing."

  Jack managed a weak chuckle, though the motion sent a twinge of pain through his ribs. "Feels like they got their hits in," he muttered.

  Reuben leaned back, crossing his arms as he studied Jack. "What happened out there, Jack? Who did this to you?"

  Jack’s expression darkened, the memories of his recent ordeal surfacing like specters. He could see flashes of the cold, sterile laboratory, where bright lights bore down on him, exposing every inch of his vulnerability. He remembered the way the scalpel glinted in the hands of emotionless figures, the sting of needles driving into his veins, and the chilling monotony of their detached voices discussing him as though he were a machine.

  Each scream he let out was ignored, met only with the cold efficiency of their procedures. The sensation of suffocating under restraints and the echo of muffled cries from other victims reverberated in his mind, each memory cutting deeper into his soul. He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he wrestled with whether to relive the horrors aloud. Finally, he took a shaky breath and began to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "They... they experimented on me. Tortured me. Every day was a new kind of pain."

  "They broke my bones and reset them, again and again, just to see how far they could push my body." His voice cracked, trembling with suppressed rage and profound despair. "I wasn’t human to them. Just a thing... something they could use, break, and throw away like garbage. I wanted to die, Reuben. I begged for it. But they wouldn’t let me."

  Reuben’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "Those bastards," he growled, the anger in his voice barely restrained. "Whatever they did to you, it’s over now. You’re safe here."

  Jack’s eyes met Reuben’s, a flicker of gratitude breaking through the lingering pain. "Thank you," he said, the words heavy with sincerity. "For everything."

  Reuben gave a small nod, his eyes softening once more. "Rest now, kid. You’ve got a long road ahead of you, but you won’t be walking it alone. Not this time."

  Jack let his head rest against the pillow, his eyes growing heavy as exhaustion began to take hold. The fabric beneath his head was coarse but oddly comforting, its worn texture a stark contrast to the cold steel he had grown used to. His muscles ached, a dull throb radiating from his healing wounds, but the pain felt distant now, muffled by the warmth of the blanket Reuben had placed over him.

  Emotionally, a fragile sense of safety began to wrap around him like a protective cocoon, soothing the jagged edges of his fear. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Jack allowed himself to surrender to the pull of sleep, his mind finally unburdened, if only for a moment. And as he drifted back into the darkness of sleep, he held onto the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.