Anna gestured silently for me to follow as we entered the skeletal remains of the skyscraper, its gutted interior sprawling around us in oppressive silence. Each cautious step echoed faintly, crunching softly over broken glass, cracked tiles, and scattered debris. The pale, fractured sunlight streaming through broken windows cast eerie, distorted shadows that danced unsettlingly across crumbling concrete walls.

  The air inside the building felt thick and suffocating, heavy with the stale, acrid smell of mildew, mold, and decay. Dust particles floated lazily in the dim, filtered sunlight, visible in swirling patterns as our cautious movements disturbed the stagnant air. My throat tightened, irritated by the pervasive dust and the ever-present underlying metallic tang of rust and old blood, making each breath shallow and rasping.

  I followed closely behind Anna, heart pounding with relentless anxiety. Every creak, groan, or distant echo caused my muscles to tense painfully, adrenaline surging sharply in response. She moved through the debris-strewn interior with practiced, silent ease, effortlessly avoiding loose rubble and precarious footing. In contrast, my own movements felt clumsy and dangerously loud, every awkward step intensifying my embarrassment and heightening my fear.

  On the second floor, Anna paused briefly, signaling for me to halt. She glanced cautiously down a dark hallway lined with doors hanging askew, revealing shadow-filled rooms beyond. The distant sounds of shuffling, scraping footsteps drifted faintly toward us, immediately raising the hairs on the back of my neck. We stood frozen in silent tension until the noises slowly faded away, replaced by the oppressive silence of the empty building once more.

  Motioning silently, Anna indicated a small pile of debris near a collapsed section of wall. Among the twisted wreckage lay a long, rusted piece of rebar, broken and jagged at one end. Hesitantly, I reached down and lifted it, feeling its coarse, rusted surface biting harshly into my palm. It was heavy, roughly three feet in length, its broken end sharpened crudely from where it had snapped. Despite its awkward weight and rough edges, the improvised weapon provided a comforting sense of security amidst the overwhelming uncertainty.

  Holding the piece of rebar tightly, my knuckles white with tension, I followed Anna further into the building. Each step intensified the unsettling realization of our surroundings—the stark evidence of lives abruptly abandoned scattered everywhere. Torn clothing, broken furniture, and discarded personal items lay strewn chaotically, each piece a haunting testament to the lives that once filled this place with normalcy and routine.

  We ascended carefully to higher floors, moving slowly, stopping frequently to listen and evaluate potential threats. The higher we climbed, the stronger the pervasive scent of decay became, mingling nauseatingly with the sharp tang of rusted metal. My throat grew raw from breathing the contaminated air, tasting bitter and metallic on my tongue, amplifying the nausea swirling persistently in my gut.

  Eventually, Anna paused at the entrance to what appeared to be an old cafeteria area, gesturing for me to stay back. She stepped cautiously forward, scanning the shadowed interior carefully before finally signaling that it was safe to enter. I moved hesitantly inside, heart pounding erratically, rebar gripped tightly and ready for use. My eyes swept the ruined cafeteria, taking in toppled tables, broken chairs, and mold-covered surfaces, the stench of rotted food thick and oppressive in the confined space. My fingers tightened involuntarily around the rough, rust-encrusted length of rebar I’d picked up, the metal abrasive against the damp sweat that slicked my palm. The sharpened, jagged end where it had snapped off from the concrete protruded dangerously, a primitive but grimly comforting weapon. My hand trembled from exertion, fear, and fatigue; the weapon felt heavy and awkward, but its weight provided at least a small, psychological comfort.

  Anna moved silently ahead of me, each step she took was deliberate and measured, her worn shoes barely making a sound against the filthy, crumbling carpet. Her body language radiated confidence born from necessity, shoulders squared, eyes always alert, her battered baseball bat gripped tightly in one hand as she peered carefully into each doorway and room we approached.

  The interior of the skyscraper was surreal, filled with reminders of a once-thriving civilization now reduced to skeletal ruin. Grey, crumbling walls were streaked with mold and mildew, their surfaces darkened and moist with decades of decay. Vines twisted and curled through cracks in concrete and drywall alike, sprouting like pale fingers from deep fissures in the plaster and cement. The stagnant air was thick and stifling, scented heavily with mold, damp earth, and rusted metal.

  As we ascended another staircase, my breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, heart pounding relentlessly in my chest. Each step upward seemed impossibly steep, leg muscles screaming in painful protest as we climbed carefully over the scattered debris, broken furniture, and occasional skeletal remains lying twisted on landings. I avoided looking too closely at the bones—thinly clothed in tattered, moth-eaten rags, human remains left as stark warnings of what could easily become my fate.

  The dim light filtering in from shattered windows was murky and yellowed, distorted by dirt and grime accumulated on the glass over years. Shadows danced grotesquely across the cracked walls, twisting into disturbing shapes that made my pulse quicken. My tongue felt dry and rough, scraping across the roof of my mouth, tasting of dirt and metallic fear.

  We paused briefly on a landing as Anna signaled to stop. She tilted her head, listening intently, eyes narrowed in concentration. I mimicked her, straining desperately to hear through the heavy silence. My pulse quickened sharply at the faint rustling and shifting sounds coming from somewhere beyond a half-opened doorway down the corridor. The noise was indistinct yet unmistakably ominous—the muffled, irregular shuffle of movement against dry paper and grit.

  Anna silently raised her hand, gesturing firmly toward the source of the sound. We both flattened ourselves against the wall, barely breathing, muscles tense as we waited anxiously. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, adrenaline burning through me with painful intensity. After what felt like an eternity, the sounds shifted farther away, fading slowly into silence again. Anna exhaled quietly, signaling cautiously to move forward once more.

  We continued upward, each floor similar to the last—rooms filled with scattered papers and office equipment, ruined desks and chairs overturned and broken into splintered pieces. Computers lay shattered and covered in a thick layer of grayish dust, their once-bright plastic casings now dull, brittle shells. The smell of stale decay, dust, and lingering mildew hung heavily in each room we searched. Occasionally, we’d spot broken vending machines, glass shattered and snacks long decayed or scavenged. My stomach growled in hollow desperation, intensifying my gnawing hunger, but nothing edible remained within.

  Entering a large open-plan office space, I stepped carefully, my ruined dress shoes crunching over fragments of broken glass and crumbling ceiling tiles. My foot slipped slightly, sending shards skittering across the dirty linoleum floor. Anna spun around immediately, eyes narrowed dangerously.

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  “Watch yourself,” she whispered harshly, visibly irritated. “One loud noise can draw them in like moths.”

  I nodded apologetically, gripping the rebar tighter in embarrassment and fear. I moved forward with painstaking care, muscles screaming in protest as I forced each step into cautious silence.

  Toward the far side of the floor, I spotted a conference room—its large glass window panes shattered, walls streaked black with mold, and its long table broken into sagging halves. Papers lay scattered across its surface, illegible, water-damaged, and yellowed from age. Something about the room tugged faintly at me—a haunting reminder of my previous life, endless, meaningless meetings in identical rooms, now reduced to empty husks filled only with echoes of their pointless former purpose.

  Anna moved to an adjacent office doorway, kneeling quietly and carefully opening drawers of a rusting metal filing cabinet. Her movements were efficient, practiced—her eyes sharp as she sifted methodically through worthless papers and forgotten office supplies. I followed her example hesitantly, forcing my trembling fingers to sift awkwardly through a desk nearby. Old pens and moldy, yellowed papers were useless to us, yet beneath layers of dust, I spotted a forgotten candy bar, its wrapper bloated and faded. Excitement surged briefly before fading in sharp disappointment as I saw mold visibly blooming beneath the plastic wrapper.

  Anna caught my frustrated expression and shrugged sympathetically, her own searches clearly just as fruitless.

  “Keep moving,” she murmured quietly, heading again for the stairwell. “We can’t waste daylight.”

  I followed obediently, anxiety knotting tighter inside my stomach. Each upward step became increasingly difficult, the lingering hunger and dehydration amplifying my exhaustion. The air thickened as we climbed, choking me with each shallow breath, yet we pressed on in grim silence.

  Finally, several floors higher, Anna paused abruptly, peering carefully down a long hallway lined with office doors. I stopped behind her, pulse quickening again as I strained to see what had captured her cautious attention. At the end of the hall, a large supply room door stood slightly ajar, its interior hidden in dense shadow. Anna tilted her head again, clearly listening closely, but this time we heard no movement.

  She gestured silently, approaching the door with exaggerated care, weapon raised. I mimicked her, gripping the rusty rebar in both trembling hands, fear and anticipation mingling bitterly in my throat.

  We reached the door together, Anna gently pushing it further open. Its hinges creaked faintly, painfully loud in the otherwise oppressive silence. We froze, holding our breath—but no sound or movement answered our cautious intrusion.

  Anna entered first, weapon held defensively before her. I followed closely, eyes widening in cautious hope at shelves filled with dusty boxes, crates, and scattered supplies—possibly useful, potentially lifesaving. The oppressive stillness of the supply room pressed in on us as Anna slowly closed the door behind us, reducing the thin, pale illumination from the hallway to little more than narrow slivers of dim light. My heartbeat quickened in the heavy silence, each pulse echoing painfully through my aching skull.

  Anna turned to me, her eyes sharp, glistening slightly as they darted over the shadowy corners of the room. Her voice was barely a whisper, a ghost of breath against my ear, but the intensity of it cut sharply through the gloom.

  “Move quietly. Check the boxes on the left side. I’ll cover the right.” She glanced pointedly at the rusty rebar gripped tightly in my trembling fist. “Keep that ready. You never know what’s hiding in here.”

  I nodded silently, swallowing hard against the lump of anxiety tightening in my throat. Fear prickled along my spine, amplified by the stale, stagnant air heavy with dust, decay, and an overwhelming sense of abandonment. My eyes struggled to adjust to the room’s dim interior, shadows playing across surfaces and twisting ordinary shapes into unsettling forms.

  Anna moved carefully, her footsteps silent, posture tense, weapon poised for immediate use. Her sharp eyes scanned each shelf meticulously, fingers quietly shifting boxes and gently brushing away thick layers of accumulated grime. I mimicked her movements as best I could, painfully aware of my clumsiness, my body trembling from hunger, fatigue, and relentless stress.

  The boxes on my side of the room yielded nothing useful—just moldy papers, disintegrating cardboard, and forgotten office supplies now long decayed. Frustration rose inside me as my stomach growled impatiently, craving sustenance I couldn’t provide. I pushed aside another useless box with a soft sigh of defeat, feeling increasingly hopeless.

  Then, in the far corner of my assigned area, partially hidden behind sagging shelves and crumbling cardboard, I noticed the dull metallic outline of something more substantial—a safe. Its steel door hung slightly ajar, caked in thick dust, draped heavily with tangled cobwebs that fluttered softly in the faint breeze drifting through cracks in the walls.

  Curiosity propelled me forward cautiously, heart beating a little faster. I knelt beside the safe, dust particles rising thickly into the air around me as I brushed the grime and webbing aside with my sleeve. Beneath my fingertips, the metal felt cold, gritty with rust and years of neglect. I gripped the safe’s heavy door, slowly easing it open wider, its rusted hinges protesting faintly in soft, gritty whispers.

  My breath caught in my throat as I glimpsed the safe’s interior—a single bundle of crisp, green bills stacked neatly, pristine compared to the decay around it. Disbelief washed through me, quickly chased by cautious excitement. I glanced anxiously back over my shoulder; Anna’s silhouette remained occupied across the room, attention fully consumed by her own search.

  Turning back to the safe, I lifted the stack of bills carefully, my fingers trembling as I riffled through them rapidly. A thousand dollars, crisp and seemingly untouched by the decay surrounding them. My heart pounded harder as realization dawned—they were identical to the currency from my world. For a moment, confusion surged, my mind struggling to comprehend this strange connection between realities, but my practical desperation quickly overtook any deeper speculation.

  Quickly, silently, I slipped the bills into my pocket, guilt tingling at the edges of my conscience. Anna’s mistrustful eyes flashed briefly in my thoughts, yet hunger and desperation silenced my doubts. I closed the safe gently, quietly, and turned away, forcing my breathing steady, hiding my guilty excitement behind a mask of feigned disappointment.

  “Find anything?” Anna’s whispered voice carried softly across the gloom, startling me slightly as I approached her side.

  I shook my head quickly, throat dry, voice husky with suppressed nerves. “Nothing useful over there. Just junk and paper.”

  Anna sighed softly, her features barely visible in the dimness but clearly etched with frustration. “Same here. Except for these.” She lifted her hand, revealing two military-style MRE packs, their sealed plastic wrappings still intact and only lightly dusted by age. My stomach twisted sharply with anticipation and gratitude at the sight.

  “Are they safe to eat?” I whispered cautiously, hope trembling audibly in my voice.

  She nodded firmly, glancing quickly toward the door. “Perfectly preserved. These things last forever—at least long enough for us to get by another few days.”

  Relief surged through me, mingling strangely with lingering guilt over my secret find. Anna quickly stowed the meals in her battered backpack, movements efficient and deliberate.

  “Let’s get moving again,” she murmured quietly, eyes sharp and wary. “We can’t risk staying still for too long. We’ll find a safer spot before we stop to eat.”

  I nodded quickly, falling into step behind her as we carefully exited the dim room, stepping back into the faint illumination of the hallway. The money burned heavily in my pocket, a comforting yet uneasy weight, a strange connection between this devastated world and the familiar one I’d left behind.

  As we cautiously navigated back through the crumbling corridors and stairwells, silence stretched tensely between us, each lost in our own thoughts. Anna moved confidently yet warily, driven by practical survival instincts honed through brutal experience.