The cuffs on Ezra's wrists cut into his skin.
He sat in the back of a military plane, chained to the seat like a damn dog. Other prisoners were strapped down too. Some stared at nothing. Some muttered curses. A few just passed out, heads hanging like broken dolls.
Ezra?
Ezra just felt dead tired.
His head was splitting. His skin felt like it was crawling off his bones. Every muscle screamed. Withdrawal was a prison all by itself, and it was way worse than the one waiting for him.
He leaned back, shut his eyes, and tried to zone out.
Then somebody screamed.
And just like that, the world flipped.
Ezra's eyes snapped open.
One of the guards was gone. Not dead. Not unconscious. Gone. His boots, his uniform, even his gun, just lying there. Like he had been snatched out of existence.
"What the hell…?" one prisoner said.
Another guard bolted down the aisle, white as a sheet.
"Stay in your seats! Don't move!" he barked.
And poof, he disappeared too.
Ezra didn't move. Didn't breathe. People were blinking out. Guards. Prisoners. Even the pilots.
Then the plane dropped.
Sirens wailed. The plane shook like it was trying to tear itself apart. Oxygen masks snapped loose and dangled like limp nooses.
The engines screamed. The plane was falling hard.
People shouted. Cried. Prayed.
Ezra felt himself lift off the seat.
"No, no, no...!" he gasped, clutching the armrests like they could save him.
The last thing he saw was the desert rushing up to slap them out of the sky.
—-----
He woke up choking on smoke.
The wreckage burned around him. The air reeked of fire, jet fuel, and blood.
Ezra coughed and dragged himself upright.
His cuffs? Snapped clean off. His seatbelt? Torn. His whole body hurt like hell, but somehow, he was still breathing.
He looked around.
Bodies everywhere. Twisted. Burned. Silent.
Nobody moved. Nobody but him.
—------
Ezra stumbled through the woods.
His lips were cracked. Blood ran down his side. Every step felt like dragging a dead man.
He didn't know where he was. No water. No food. No plan.
He just walked.
For hours.
His legs barely worked, but he didn't stop.
Something had to be out there. Something.
And there it was, a cave.
He shuffled inside. It was damp. Cold. Dark.
The walls weren't right. They were soft. Wet. Breathing, maybe. Or maybe he was just seeing things.
Didn't matter.
His body finally gave out. He collapsed hard onto the stone floor, eyes half-shut.
That's when he saw it.
A lump of meat. Sitting there. Like a gift. Like a trap.
Flesh, bloody and raw. Big as a fist. A shard of bone sticking out like a tooth.
Animal? Human? He didn't know.
Didn't care.
His stomach made the call for him.
He crawled over, grabbed it with bloody hands, and bit in.
It tasted like rot and metal.
He chewed anyway.
And then everything went black.
—-----
Ezra woke with a sharp breath.
Cold air hit his lungs. His mouth tasted like blood and dirt.
His stomach twisted. He rolled onto his side and gagged, but nothing came up.
The lump of flesh was gone. Only a clean-picked bone sat by the cave wall. He stared at it. It looked... wrong. Not like any animal he'd ever seen. Not like anything that should exist.
He looked away fast.
Something was off.
His body didn't hurt.
Ezra blinked and looked down at himself.
No cuts. No bruises. No blood.
Just clean skin. Like nothing ever happened.
"What the hell...?" he muttered.
He pushed himself up. His legs held steady. No wobble. No pain.
Something was very wrong.
He stumbled out of the cave. The wind slapped him in the face, cool and dry. The sky was too blue. The world is too quiet.
He just started walking.
No plan. No clue where he was going.
Time blurred. Hours, maybe.
Eventually, he found a road.
Then a sign. A city nearby.
The name sounded familiar.
He kept walking.
But the city wasn't right.
Cars were smashed into poles. Stores were trashed. Fires burned with nobody putting them out.
No sirens. No cops. No people.
Just the hum of broken things still running.
He found a gas station. Door hanging half-open. Lights are still flickering.
A TV buzzed behind the counter.
Ezra approached it like it might bite.
"Breaking news," a woman's voice crackled. "The Rapture, millions gone. All at once. No warning."
Ezra just stared.
'Gone?'
'Millions?'
His chest tightened.
Then the next report kicked in.
"Now reports say the dead are rising. Violent. Aggressive. Some call it a virus. Others... something biblical."
Ezra stumbled back, almost falling over.
He didn't get it. None of it made sense.
But the world was broken, and he was stuck in it.
—-----
He wandered till he found a house on the edge of town.
Looked normal enough.
Door unlocked.
Fridge still full.
Closets packed with clothes.
Whoever lived there? Gone.
Just like everybody else.
Ezra took a shower. First real one in days. Blood, dirt, and prison stink washed down the drain.
Didn't feel clean, though.
He caught a look at himself in the mirror.
Same guy staring back. Same brown eyes. Same messy black hair. Same junkie face.
Only difference?
The world outside was dead.
And somehow he wasn't.
He grabbed some clean clothes.
Plain T-shirt. Jeans. Half-decent jacket.
Better than a prison jumpsuit.
Better than chains.
But not enough to feel human again.
He crashed on the couch. Knife tucked under the pillow. Ate beans for breakfast. Crackers for dinner.
He didn't trust the silence outside.
Didn't trust the silence inside his own head, either.
—-----
The house had a phone. He found a charger and plugged it in.
No signal.
Then, two bars. Barely enough.
He called his mom.
No answer.
Tried again.
Still nothing.
Dad. Sister. Straight to voicemail.
Ezra sat there, staring at the screen. Waiting. Hoping.
Nothing.
Part of him wanted to go home. Just walk through the front door, see their faces, pretend none of this ever happened.
But that other part, the one that remembered the cuffs, the court dates, the mugshots, whispered:
What if somebody sees you?
A twenty-one-year-old drug dealer, popping up during the end of the world?
Yeah. They'd drag him right back to jail.
If there even was a jail left.
Still... he had to know.
Had to know if they were alive.
Then bam… the power cut out.
—------
Next day, the lights flickered back on.
Ezra almost didn't believe it. He scrambled for the remote and turned on the TV.
A blonde news anchor stared dead-eyed into the camera, reading off the teleprompter like it was just another hurricane warning.
"The Revelation Phenomenon," she said.
"Reports are coming in of people awakening strange powers. Strength. Speed. Fire manipulation. Telekinesis."
Ezra blinked.
Sat forward.
What?
The footage started rolling.
Military outposts? Overrun.
Guns did jack.
Soldiers torn apart.
Civilians getting flattened.
The infected weren't like movie zombies.
They were faster. Meaner.
They leapt. They climbed. They swarmed like freakin' ants on sugar.
Ezra's hands gripped the couch cushion so hard his knuckles cracked.
This isn't just a virus.
This is war.
And the government?
Gone. Total dumpster fire.
Half the leaders poofed in the Rapture.
No chain of command. No backup plan. Just pure, screaming chaos.
Then the broadcast showed this weird handheld scanner thing.
Looked like something out of a cheap sci-fi flick.
Lines of scared people getting scanned.
"Revelation Level: B-Class."
"Revelation Level: S-Class."
'Class levels? Powers?
What the hell was happening?'
Ezra sat there, heart pounding out of his chest.
He didn't know what was happening to him.
But something had changed.
And whatever it was...
It was crawling under his skin, waiting to break loose.