Prologue
BANG!
The acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air, sharp and suffocating, mingling with the distant thuds of bullets striking the unforgiving concrete. The tension in the room was suffocating, heavy like the weight of the world, and the sharp voice that sliced through the chaos only made it worse.
“Still talking about achievements at a time like this? Ridiculous,” the voice sneered bitterly, a jarring mockery of the situation.
“Give him epinephrine! Prepare the defibrillator!” The doctor barked orders, his tone clinical and unyielding despite the madness unfolding around him.
Machines hummed to life, their mechanical whirs a constant reminder that time was running out. The medical team moved with precision, hands steady but faces taut with the heavy knowledge of what was at stake. They were about to make one last attempt—one last, desperate shot to bring Alwin back.
“Clear.”
The sound of the defibrillator crackling through the air was deafening. Alwin’s body jerked violently, his chest arching as electricity surged through him, a convulsion of life and death. He slammed back onto the bed with a brutal thud.
The room fell still. The monitors blinked with a sickening rhythm, the only sound the faint hiss of the machines and the team’s frantic whispers.
The doctor checked Alwin’s pupils, his breath held as he waited for any sign that he was still tethered to life. There was nothing. The heartbeat, weak and sporadic, was barely there, irregular and fighting against the pull of the void.
“Come on…” The doctor muttered under his breath, an almost imperceptible plea to whatever force was listening.
For a brief moment, everything went quiet except the soft hiss of air forced into Alwin’s lungs. A futile attempt to breathe life back into him.
“Clear.”
Another shock, and his body spasmed again, an uncontrolled ripple of pain as the defibrillator cracked to life once more.
The next sound was a rasping breath, jagged and raw.
“Fucking hell… it hurts,” Alwin’s voice came in a hoarse rasp, like someone waking from a nightmare, his body fighting, resisting the void that wanted to claim him.
And then came the scream.
“Alwin! Come back to me!”
Arya’s voice was unmistakable. She stood there, pale, trembling, her hands clutching the edge of the bed with white-knuckled intensity. Her eyes were wide, filled with a ferocity that could have leveled the room. But she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Not now.
*“ALWIN. WAKE UP, YOU BASTARD!!!”
The urgency in Arya’s voice shattered the quiet, her words cutting through the haze of Alwin’s consciousness. His eyes snapped open, wide and panicked, but the tube lodged in his throat denied him breath, choking off any scream that might have escaped. He struggled, gasping for air, the taste of metal heavy in his mouth.
Arya’s slap was sharp, the sting of it a brutal reminder of where he was, what he was fighting for. He groaned, the sound ragged, like a wounded animal, a deep, guttural noise that reverberated through the stillness of the room. Pain was all-consuming—his body ached in ways he didn’t know were possible, and yet he fought to rise from it.
“Alwin!” Arya’s voice was raw, fierce with a mixture of relief and desperation. She gripped his shoulders, shaking him gently, her hands trembling. “Come on! Wake up! Please—please, Alwin, wake up!”
With each slap, each desperate plea, Arya’s heart cracked just a little more, but her resolve never wavered. She would not let him slip away.
“Don’t you dare leave me!” she hissed, each word a command, each plea wrapped in unrelenting need.
Alwin’s lips parted, a ragged breath escaping as he fought to focus. The world around him was disjointed, fragments of images and sensations mixing with the unbearable fire coursing through him. His body refused to comply, torn between the violence of pain and the overwhelming urge to slip back into unconsciousness.
With one last, violent effort, he forced his hand to his throat, trembling with the weight of agony.
“Ngrhhhh!” The scream that tore through him was muffled by the tube, but it still felt like a thousand knives digging into his insides. The tube resisted, its grip on his airway fierce, relentless. His hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to tear it away, but his body rebelled against him, each movement amplifying the pain until his muscles screamed in protest.
“Shit… shit…” Alwin’s voice came out strangled, his breath coming in gasps, his body seizing with the effort to stay awake. The darkness was tempting, beckoning him to surrender, but Arya’s voice broke through, sharp and urgent.
“Come on, Alwin, you can do it. You have to do it.”
It wasn’t a plea; it was a demand. A lifeline.
With what little strength remained, Alwin yanked the tube from his throat. The pain that followed was like fire tearing through his chest, a relentless burn that spread through every inch of his body.
“Arghhh! Fuuuck!” His scream was guttural, raw—spitting blood, struggling to stay upright, as the reality of the pain collided with the remnants of his will to fight.
Tears, hot and unexpected, streamed down his face as the burning sensation flooded his body. He didn’t even realize they were there, but they were a silent testament to the depth of his suffering.
“Shit, it hurts like hell,” he managed through clenched teeth, each word a struggle.
Arya was already there, her hands gentle but swift as she disconnected the IV lines and the wires. Her fingers were steady, though her face was pale with concern, her voice soft but full of purpose.
“Slowly, Alwin. Slowly…” she whispered, though there was an edge to her tone that couldn’t hide the urgency beneath it. She helped him sit up, her hands careful but firm, guiding him with an intensity that refused to let him fall back into the abyss.
“We need to go. Can you walk? Please—” She hesitated, her voice trembling, but she pushed through. “We have to get out of here.”
Alwin’s vision spun, the room tilting dangerously. He could barely process the words, barely manage to hold himself together.
“There’s no way out for the two of us,” he muttered, his voice hollow, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “Leave me here. I’m already gone.”
But Arya’s grip tightened, her heart breaking at his words, yet her determination was unshaken.
“No,” she said firmly, her voice a vow. “I’m not leaving you. Never.”
Her hand brushed through his hair, a soft touch, but with purpose.
“We’re getting out together. No matter what.”
*
Complete story at: https://www.amazon.com/s?i=digital-text&rh=p_27%3ADannesya&s=relevancerank&text=Dannesya&ref=dp_byline_sr_ebooks_1
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