The sky was choked with suffocating black clouds, blocking out the sun and pouring rain as if mourning a lost world.
Heavy raindrops seeped between the crumbling rooftops, cascading down into muddy alleys where rats swarmed, fleeing the rising flood.
Amid this bleak scene, angry shouts rang out:
— "Catch him! Don't let him escape!"
— "If I get my hands on you, boy, I'll show you real suffering!"
The child ran with every ounce of strength he had left, his breath ragged and uneven:
(Gasp… gasp…)
No… they can't catch me… not after I found that loaf. They'll take it… I can't let that happen! I have to find somewhere to hide… quickly… before my legs give out!
A voice shouted from behind:
— "Give me the bread! I promise you'll become one of my followers!"
But the boy didn't respond…
Hunger had paralyzed his thoughts, and fear tightened around his chest.
Think… think, Rat! There's no room for mistakes now…
Suddenly, a flicker of hope crossed his mind:
The swamp… there's a garbage dump nearby. No one dares go near it… it's the perfect place to hide!
He veered sharply into narrow alleys, trying to lose his pursuers within the concrete maze left behind by war.
Distant voices echoed:
— "Don't let him get away!"
— "He disappeared! He must be hiding somewhere nearby!"
— "Split up! We'll find him before night falls…"
As the rain intensified, Rat finally reached a rusted garbage container in a deserted corner.
He jumped inside and crouched down, trying to catch his breath, clutching the moldy loaf of bread as if it were a priceless treasure.
His name was Rat…
A boy no older than nine, with pale silver hair and harsh features where innocence and fear were tangled together. His clothes were torn and filthy, yet his tall frame deceived anyone who saw him, making him seem older than he truly was.
He sat there, surrounded by filth, dampness, and rot…
In a world that no longer showed mercy to the weak.
The rain had lessened, but the cold it left behind gnawed at Rat's bones, as if the wind were breathing poison into every joint of his frail body.
He quietly climbed out of the garbage container, his eyes scanning the alley like a wounded wolf searching for an escape.
The rain had washed away his footprints, but fear still lingered.
The moldy bread remained clenched in his hand as if it were his very heart… fragile, cracked, yet the most precious thing he owned.
He moved lightly through the alleys, hiding whenever he heard the creak of metal or the cry of a starving cat. No one showed mercy in this place. Hunger had turned everyone into predators—even children.
When he was sure the path was clear, he hurried toward his only destination… his small shack.
A shack made of wood and rusted iron, tucked away in a forgotten corner outside the walls of the "Shelter"—a chaotic settlement guarded by armed militias and ruled by the law of the jungle. Yet in that isolated corner, no one entered without permission. And Rat knew every narrow path, every gap between the boards.
He entered the shack and buried himself beneath piles of torn cloth—something like blankets, though they had never been warm.
At last, he closed his eyes, the loaf resting in his arms… as if it were his child.
The wind howled, and darkness crept beyond the windows, but here—among rotten wood and broken iron…
He felt something rare:
Survival.