Adrian could barely distinguish anything through the endless howl of the wind.
The gusts struck with brutal force, tearing him off balance and throwing him in every direction, forcing him to fight for every step. Cold seeped through his wet, thin clothes and buried itself deep inside his bones, a dull ache that refused to leave. Snow fell in dense spirals, each flake striking his clothes and exposed skin like a tiny needle of ice.
The gas mask and the black sack pulled over his head had turned breathing into torture. Every breath came hard, filtered through cold rubber and damp air, while his field of vision had narrowed into a suffocating haze of darkness.
He was blind.
Hands bound.
Dragged through the storm by men he did not know, men whose intentions remained hidden within the same darkness that had swallowed the city.
The thought of the deforms appearing at any moment gnawed at him without pause.
If his captors abandoned him up there, on the surface, he would have no chance.
He did not know who they were.
He did not know what they wanted.
And the unknown weighed more heavily upon him than the cold or the ropes cutting into his wrists.
His mind built darker possibilities with every step.
Deserters.
Madmen.
Men who captured survivors only to throw them in front of deforms, unarmed, for amusement or filthy wagers.
He imagined tunnels soaked in blood, laughter hidden in darkness, people forced to fight until nothing remained of them.
Yet if they had wanted him dead, they would already have done it.
In the tunnel.
Quickly.
Without hesitation.
Mason had been shot.
Adrian was still alive.
That meant they needed him for something.
Perhaps only for a while.
Perhaps until they reached their destination.
The thought brought no comfort.
Quite the opposite.
It tightened his stomach harder than the cold and the wind lashing across his body.
The captors moved with cold discipline, without wasted gestures, like men accustomed to controlling such situations.
While the wind screamed through the ruins and snow lashed his face, Adrian continued forward almost mechanically, driven only by instinct and the brutal desire to remain alive.
The two men barely spoke.
Only short gestures.
Firm hands on his shoulders.
Sharp pushes whenever he slowed.
And then Adrian understood.
He had only one rule left.
Keep walking.
Nothing more.
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