MidReal Story
Survival's Betrayal
Scenario: Killed or be killed
Create my version of this story
The world was a dark and dangerous place.
A place where hope was a distant memory and fear was the only constant.
But even in the midst of chaos and violence, I clung to the remnants of that hope, holding on with everything I had.
The factory was a sprawling maze of broken machinery and rusted metal, with shafts of sunlight piercing through holes in the roof.
Debris littered the ground, making it difficult to move quietly as I searched for anything of value.
My heart pounded with fear, the memory of the Reapers’ brutality fresh in my mind.
When they had attacked my town a week ago, they’d killed everyone in their path.
Men, women, children—it didn’t matter to them.
They’d slaughtered without mercy, leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake.
The few of us who had managed to escape knew that we were living on borrowed time.
The Reapers were relentless in their pursuit of anyone left alive in this postapocalyptic wasteland.
They were searching for us, following our trail wherever it led.
That’s why I never stayed in one place for too long.
During the day, I would scavenge for food and other supplies that I needed to survive, but as soon as the sun set, I would disappear into the shadows.
I lived my life on the run, moving from one place to the next as I tried to outsmart my pursuers.
I knew that it was only a matter of time before they caught up to me, but that didn’t stop me from trying to outrun my past.
I thought about my family and friends as I searched the factory for anything of value.
They were dead now, just like millions of others who had perished during the war.
I missed them every day, but I couldn’t afford to grieve for them.
Grief was a luxury that I couldn’t afford—not when my very survival was at stake.
Life in the new world was hard; it was a constant battle against despair.
But even in the darkest of times, I believed that there was still a glimmer of humanity left in the world.
There had to be something more out there, some semblance of civilization or a community of survivors.
I held onto that belief, no matter how tenuous it seemed.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the factory floor, I knew that it was time to move on.
I had found enough supplies to last me for a few days, and I didn’t want to be caught out in the open after dark.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder and made my way toward the exit, moving quickly but quietly.
I had almost reached the door when I heard a noise behind me.
Freeze,” a voice said.
My blood turned to ice as I recognized it, and I spun around to see a man standing there, his gun trained on me.
He was tall and muscular, with short brown hair and hard blue eyes.
