The moon hung low, casting long shadows across the desolate city. Every corner seemed to hold a story—every broken building, every shattered window whispered of lives long gone. Alex moved through the streets with caution, his eyes scanning every darkened alleyway. But his mind wasn't focused on the ruins. It was on Elena.
Her words echoed in his mind—I'm the law now.
Alex shook his head. Law? What was law when there was no one left to uphold it? He understood survival, but the concept of justice, of order, felt like a relic of a lost world. A world that no longer made sense.
He passed through the twisted remnants of what used to be a neighborhood. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional gust of wind. But then, he heard something—movement. Quick, deliberate steps. Alex froze, his instincts kicking in. He pressed himself against the crumbling wall of a nearby building, straining his ears.
The sound grew closer.
A figure emerged from the shadows, not Elena, but a group of survivors. They were young, ragged, their faces marked with hunger and desperation. They didn't see Alex at first, but he knew they were dangerous. They carried weapons—makeshift clubs, knives, anything that could serve as a tool for survival.
Just get past them, don't engage, Alex thought, but it was too late.
The leader of the group—a woman with wild eyes and a scar running down her face—spotted him. Her gaze hardened immediately.
"Hey! You there! Stop!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the night like a blade.
Alex didn't hesitate. He turned and bolted, his feet pounding the cracked pavement. He could hear them behind him, their footsteps quickening, the sound of weapons being drawn.
He rounded a corner, his heart hammering in his chest. But the alley was a dead end. No way out.
"Don't run," the woman called out, her tone mocking. "We don't bite. Unless we have to."
Alex turned to face them, his back against the cold stone. He weighed his options quickly—fight or flight. Neither seemed ideal, but in the end, survival always came down to who was faster, stronger, or smarter.
Just as one of the men lunged at him, a shot rang out—sharp, echoing through the alley.
The attackers froze. Alex barely had time to register what happened when a shadow loomed from the mouth of the alley.
It was Elena.
She stood there, a silhouette framed by the dim light of the moon, her gun aimed at the ground where the man had collapsed, his hand still gripping the knife he intended to use on Alex.
"Move away from him," Elena ordered, her voice unwavering, cold as the night air.
The group hesitated, eying her warily. But they had no choice. They knew Elena's reputation. She was the law in these parts, whether they liked it or not.
The woman with the scar snarled. "This isn't your fight, Cruz. Stay out of it."
"Move," Elena repeated, her voice not giving an inch.
The woman cursed, but the others stepped back. Slowly, reluctantly, they backed away into the shadows, muttering curses under their breath.
As the silence fell over the alley, Elena lowered her gun. Her eyes met Alex's for the first time, and he saw something in them—something he hadn't expected. There was no triumph in her gaze, no pride for saving him. Just weariness. Like she had done this too many times before.
"You alright?" she asked, her voice softer now, though still guarded.
Alex nodded, trying to regain his composure. He had almost been caught off guard, but something about her showing up had shifted the balance of power. He wasn't sure if he should be grateful or resentful.
"Thanks… I guess."
Elena didn't respond right away. She just stared at him, as if measuring him. "You can't keep running from people like them. Sooner or later, you'll face worse." She holstered her weapon and turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Alex called out, the question slipping from his lips before he could stop himself.
She glanced over her shoulder. "Somewhere safer than here."
Alex watched her walk away, a strange knot forming in his chest. Safer? He didn't know what that even meant anymore. But there was something about Elena—something that didn't sit right with him. She was different from the others. Hard, but not entirely lost. And that made him wonder if maybe there was still hope for this broken world. But hope, like everything else, was fleeting.