The rusted door refused to open.
He pulled with all his strength. The mechanism hadn't moved in years, maybe decades. The metal gave way with a strained, grating shriek — as if someone had been clinging to it from the other side, refusing to let go.
And then — light.
Blindingly bright. Sharp. Like a blade across the eyes. Dave instinctively shielded his face, squeezing his eyes shut. They watered instantly.
Everything inside pulsed with pain. He had been in the dark too long. Too long without knowing what lay beyond the walls.
He stepped out.
Squinting through the haze, he tried to adjust. Shapes swam in and out of focus. The air was dry. Heavy. It smelled of dust and iron.
When his vision cleared, he turned to look.
A narrow alleyway. Sandwiched between two towering buildings, cracked and crumbling, overtaken by something green. Walls peeling. Parts collapsed. Plastic windows — shattered. Roots crawled along the sills. Somewhere up high, leaves fluttered — sprung from cracks in concrete.
The bunker entrance was invisible. No signs. No warnings. Just a panel in the wall. Metal and oblivion.
He stepped out of the shadows.
And the city unfolded before him.
It was…
Frightening.
A metropolis. Enormous. Sterile in its lifelessness. Silent. Skyscrapers, highways, apartment blocks. All decayed, overgrown, abandoned. Rusted signs dangled loosely. Cars frozen in the asphalt, as if glued in place. From some broken windows hung scraps of fabric, as if someone had tried to escape… and failed.
Bones. He didn't notice them at first. Pale, sun-bleached. Here and there — remnants of flesh. He didn't come closer.
Leaves rustled in the wind. Thin stems scraped the car bodies. The sound had a strange silence to it. Too perfect. Too dead.
"It's like everything just… stopped," he muttered. "Like someone hit pause.
And forgot to press play again."
A twinge hit his stomach.
Hunger?
No. Not that. He was sure.
His gaze fell on an old car nearby. Rusted. Roof caved in. He approached. Yanked the door.
It didn't just creak — it tore off. As if it had never really belonged.
Then he heard it.
"Meow?"
He froze. Looked inside.
On the passenger seat lay a dirty, white bundle. A kitten. Thin. Grimy. Eyes — huge and watery. It huddled in the corner of the seat, shivering.
"Hey… little one," Dave whispered.
He reached out a hand.
The kitten froze, but didn't flinch. Then it took a step, then another — and pressed into his palm. It trembled so hard, he could feel it even through his sleeve.
"How… how did you survive here?" he said aloud.
There was no answer. Of course. But the question escaped anyway.
He gently picked the kitten up. It squeaked softly, pressing into his chest.
"Come on. Let's find you something to eat."
He tucked the kitten into his jacket pocket. It didn't resist.
Walking down the street, he kept his eyes open. Some windows were shattered, a few balconies had collapsed. No movement. No sign of anyone else.
He still felt uneasy.
Everything was foreign. Lifeless.
But — he wasn't alone anymore.
A small supermarket stood half-intact. The sign was half-torn, but the door still held. He pushed it — it groaned and gave way.
Shelves — mostly empty. Some knocked over. Dust. Broken glass.
Behind the counter — something glinted. He stepped closer. Money. Bills. Lots of them.
"Doubt these mean anything now…" he muttered, but took a few anyway.
Just… to have. Things he remembered. Something.
Nearby — a pack of pet food. Dry. The packaging was dusty but sealed.
He sat on the floor. Laid out a few bills. Poured the food on top.
"There. Hope it's edible."
The kitten climbed out of the pocket. Sniffed first. Then began to eat. Cautiously. Nervously. Dave watched.
And smiled.
"What should I call you?"
The kitten didn't react.
"Connie? No…
Doggy?"
At that, the kitten stopped eating and hissed.
"Oof… okay. Not that."
He thought for a moment.
"How about… Ronny?"
The kitten paused. Rubbed its face against his leg. Stayed beside him.
"Ronny it is, then. Alright… we'll go with that."
Dave sighed quietly. Watched the tiny creature curled at his foot.
Maybe this is the first real thing I have.
He stood up. The kitten remained seated, looking up at him.
"Let's go, Ronny."
He took a step…
And in the same moment — somewhere ahead, a door creaked. Long, slow. A sound that didn't belong in a dead city.
He froze.
Everything went silent again.
Too silent.