He kept grunting through the pain in his head. That's when he noticed the intense pain in his leg, realizing just how badly he'd been wounded. Every step was torture. His breathing was heavy, labored as he forced himself to keep moving, pushing through the agony. But each time he took a step, the vision of the institution's name flashed red in his mind, a split-second glimpse of a nuclear blast, before his vision cleared.

  "I'm not gonna die now," he muttered fiercely, his voice low but full of determination. He grunted in frustration, pushing himself up with the last of his strength, ignoring both the flashbacks and his bleeding leg. All that mattered now was finding shelter.

  As he reached the end of the tunnel, he shielded his eyes from the blistering sunlight. The heat was unbearable. He stepped out of the tunnel and paused, taking in the view of the facility nestled deep inside the mountain. The wreckage of cars and dead guards littered the checkpoint, their bodies and the turrets still, as if they hadn't been touched in a long time.

  He stumbled away from the checkpoint, feeling the hot sand beneath his bare feet. It felt oddly liberating. Breathing deeply, he muttered to himself, "Where the fuck am I?" He chuckled slightly, but the sound was hollow.

  The place was barren. A rocky maze surrounded the facility, the only road leading out of it disappearing into the endless desert. He trudged forward, his body exhausted, but his mind racing with questions.

  "What were they doing to me... neuro parasite? Being important? I need shelter... the sun's killing me..."

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  Minutes passed, and he kept walking, the scorching heat relentless. He paused, hearing the distant roar of engines and manic screams. Curiosity piqued, he took cover behind a large rock in the barrens, watching as a convoy of cars—armored, rusted, and covered in spikes—rumbled past. The people inside were grotesque, their bodies deformed, some wearing grotesque, guts-like apparel—remnants of what could only be described as a cult or gang. Their faces were covered in blood, and from their necks hung intestine-like scarves.

  As the convoy rumbled on, something caught his eye. Something had fallen from one of the vehicles—a pile of intestines, lying on the road in a macabre heap. He recoiled in disgust, backing away quickly as the rancid smell hit him.

  "Ugh," he muttered, gagging as he stepped back, unable to suppress the bile rising in his throat.

  The sight of the "gutters" and their horrid apparel—the way they reveled in chaos—left him momentarily stunned. But exhaustion and pain quickly took over, and he shook the disturbing images from his mind. He needed to keep moving.

  He turned back to the rocky maze, walking slowly, trying to keep hidden from the madness around him. As he passed another large boulder, he spotted something carved into the rock: a skeleton, sitting beneath it with the words, "Remember how it was" etched above its skull. There was a rusty knife beside it. He stared at it briefly, confused, but he kept going.

  The weight of the world pressed on him, each step slower than the last. His strength was failing him, the sun roasting him alive. His body felt like it was shutting down—his vision blurring, the heat unbearable.

  He finally came to the end of the maze, only to be met with a long road stretching to nowhere. Frustration surged through him, but he forced himself to keep walking, though every step felt heavier than the last. His hearing was becoming muffled, his mind drifting. He could hear voices, too faint to make out, as if his daughter were calling to him.

  "Daddy! Daddy! I'm coming!"

  Her playful laugh echoed in his mind, but he collapsed to the ground before he could process it. His body failed him, his vision flashing with memories of a time before all this chaos. He saw her, dancing on a beach, carefree and happy.

  His chest heaved, but no matter how much he wanted to stand up, his legs wouldn't carry him any longer. The heat from the sun, the pain in his body, everything was too much. The sand began to pile up around him, clogging his mouth and hair, until the sounds of distant vehicles broke through the haze of his consciousness.

  This time, it wasn't screams—just the sound of engines, and the ominous feeling that something was about to change.