A man in his 20s with brow eyes and fair looks wakes up in a desolate city, disoriented and unable to recall their name or how they got there. The streets are eerily silent, with abandoned cars and crumbling buildings casting long shadows in the pale light of dawn. Broken glass crunches underfoot as they stumble forward, each step weighed down by a splitting headache and an overwhelming sense of confusion.

Their clothes are torn and bloodstained, though they find no visible wounds. As they wander aimlessly, they come across a decrepit park where a lone beach holds a battered leather journal. Intrigued and desperate for answers, they pick it up and flip through pages. Inside, there are cryptic notes, strange symbols, and fragments of what appear to be coordinates and warnings. One phrase, scrawled repeatedly, catches their eye: "Trust no one."



Before they can make a sense of it, the sound of distant footsteps breaks the silence. Panic surges through them as they spot figures emerging from the shadows. The strangers are clad in dark, tactical gear, their faces obstructed by masks. They move with a predatory precision that sends a jolt of fear through the man.

Instinct takes over, and they clutch the journal tightly before breaking into a run. The pursuit is relentless; the figures move swiftly, their heavy boots echoing off the empty streets. The protagonist ducks into an alley, heart-pounding, and scales a fire escape to the rooftop of a nearby building. From this vantage point, they glimpse the vast expanse of the ruined city -- a once -thriving metropolis now reduced to an apocalyptic wasteland.

As they catch their breath, a fragmented memory surfaces: a flash of a bright light , a deafening roar, and the sense of being engulfed by chaos. The memory is fleeting, leaving behind more questions than answers Below, the figures spread out scanning the area with devices that emit faint, eerie glows. Realizing they can't stay hidden for long, the protagonist makes a daring leap to the next rooftop, narrowly avoiding detection.

Then find temporary refuge in an abandoned apartment building, barricading the door with broken furniture. By the candlelight, they exa.mine the journal more closely. Among the cryptic entries, they notice a sketch of a strange device and a reference to something called "Eclipse. " Though the pieces don't yet fit together, an undeniable sense of purpose begins to take the root. Whoever they are, and whatever happened, the journal holds the key to uncovering the truth.

But time is running out. The distant hum of drones grows louder, signaling that their pursuers are closing in. With a deep breath, the man steels themselves and slips into the night, determined to stay one step ahead and unravel the mystery that binds them to this desolate world. The man escapes through the desolate streets, weaving between abandoned vehicles and shadowy alleys.Then find a brief refuge in an old subway station, its walls scattered with graffiti and signs of hurried evacuation. A faint hum from their pursuer' drones echoes above, and they realize the city offers no safety. Determined to keep moving, they clutch the journal tightly, each step of urgency and the unshakable feeling that the answers lie just beyond their grasp.

As the dawn breaks over the ruined city, the man find themselves wandering through the crumbling remnants of once-bustling marketplace. Shattered storefronts and overturned carts tell a story of abrupt and violent abandonment. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and silence hangs like a shroud, broken only by the occasional creak of the unstable structures.

Their grip tightens on the journal as they navigate the debris, guided by an instinct they can't quite explain. Among the rubble, a faint glimmer catches their eye. Investigating further, they uncover a small trap door concealed beneath a pile of broken crates. Hesitant but driven by the curiosity, they pry it open to reveal a staircase descending into darkness.

The stairwell leads to an underground bunker, its walls lined with flickering monitors displaying grainy footage of the city above. The room is cluttered with maps, dossiers, and handwritten notes pinned to corkboards. A sense of familiarity washes over the man as they scan the chaotic arrangement. One monitor shows a distorted as they scan the chaotic arrangement. One monitor shows a distorted image of a meeting progress, shadowy figures seated around a long table. Although the faces are blurred, something about the scene tugs at the edges of their fragmented memory.

They approach the monitors, transfixed. A sudden flash of recognition hits them: They were there. The realization sends a chill down their spine, but the memory is frustrating incomplete. They recall a heated argument, raised voices, and the unmistakable presence of fear. Who were these people, and what had they been discussing? The only word that comes into mind is "Eclipse."

Their thoughts are interrupted by a low hum reverberating through the bunker. The screens flicker, and an automated voice crackles to life, warning of imminent security breach. Panic grips the man as they scramble to gather as much information as they can, stuffing papers and a portable drive into the bag. Footsteps echo from above, growing louder with each passing second.

With no time to spare, they locate a secondary exit and slip out into a hidden alleyway. The fresh air hits them like a wave, but the respite is short-lived. A quick glance over their shoulder confirms their fears: their pursuers have found the bunker. Masked figures swarm the area, their movements methodical and precise.

The man blends into shadows, using their knowledge of the city's layout to stay one step ahead. They retreat to a dilapidated safehouse marked on one of the maps they found. There, they sift through the collected documents, piecing together fragmented clues. Among the findings is a name circled multiple times: Dr. Elias ward. Beneath it, a nite reads, "He knows the truth. "

As the night falls, the man's resolve hardens. The conspiracy is larger and more insidious than they imagined, but the journal and the bunker's contents provide a faint trail to follow. With enemies closing in, they know that the next move is critical. Determined, they prepare to seek out Dr. Wars, the first tangible lead in their quest for answers.

Under the cover of night, the man leaves the safehouse, their path illuminated by the faint glow of streetlights still miraculously powered in some parts of the city. The name "Dr. Elias Ward" echoes in their mind like a lifeline, but it's accompanied by an undercurrent of unease. Who is this man, and what role does he play in the conspiracy? The documents they found offer no clear answers, only hints that he's deeply involved in whatever "Eclipse" entails.

As they navigate the city's ruins, a new problem arises: hunger and exhaustion. The adrenaline that has kept them moving begins to wane, replaced by the sharp pangs of physical need. They scavenge what they can from abandoned stores, finding stale crackers and bottled water. It's not much, but it's enough to keep them going.

Their journey takes from through an industrial district, where factories stand like skeletons against the night sky. Here, the air feels heavier, charged with an inexplicable tension. It's as though the city itself remembers what happened and bears silent witness to the horrors of the past. As they pass one building, a vivid memory strikes them: the sound of alarms blaring, people shouting, and a massive explosion. The fire of the recollection makes them stumble, clutching their head as the fragments of the past claw their way to the surface.

In the memory, they see themselves running through the very streets they now walk, a small group of people at their side. One face stands out - a woman with piercing eyes and an air of determination. She's saying something to them, but the words are drowned out by the chaos around them with more questions and a lingering sense of losses.

Shaking off the disorientation, they press on, their destination clear: an old hospital marked on one of the maps from the bunker. According to the notes, it's where Dr. Ward was last seen. The building looms in the distance, its windows shattered, and its facade scarred by the time and neglect. As they approach, a chilling realization dawns on them: they're not alone. The shadows move within the hospital, and the faint glow flashlights flickers through the broken glass.

The man hesitate, weighing their options. They need answers, but walking into a trap isn't part of the plan.

Deciding on caution, they circle around to find an alternative entry point. A basement window, partially obscured by debris, offers a way in. Slipping inside, they're immediately struck by eerie silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing through the halls.

With each step, the tension mounts. The hospital feels alive, it's darkened corridors twisting and turning like a labyrinth. Their every movement feels amplified, the creak of the floorboards and their own breathing threatening to give them away. As they reach what appears to be a records room, they find a file bearing Dr. Ward's name. Before they can delve into its contents, the sound of approaching footsteps sends their heart racing. They extinguish their flashlight and press themselves into the shadows, ready for whatever comes next.

The footsteps draw closer, accompanied by hushed voices discussing the search. The protagonist catches fragments of their conversation- references to "securing the asset" and "Eclipse's timeline". Holding their breath they peer out from their hiding spot, recognizing the same tactical gear as their earlier pursuers. They clearly professionals, their movements synchronized and deliberate.

As the voices fade momentarily, the man seizes the opportunity to slip deeper into the hospital. They come across a surgical suite, its walls smeared with a faded bloodstains, and a desk strewn with hastily abandoned equipment. Among the clutter, they find a recorder. Pressing play, they hear a familiar voice - a man's trembling yet redolute: "This is Dr. Elias Ward. If you're hearing this, the truth is more dangerous than you know. Trust no one...... but if you're here, you might be the only one who can stop it." The recording cuts off abruptly, leaving them with more questions than answers, but also glimmer of hope that Ward's trail hasn't gone cold.