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The first thing Scar noticed when he came back to his senses was how hot it was. He felt sweaty, his clothes sticking to his skin, making him feel overwhelmed and gross. It wasn’t the kind of cold sweat he would sometimes wake up covered in after a bad dream either, he genuinely felt warm. He wasn’t supposed to feel warm, it felt wrong.
The second thing he noticed was that he wasn’t breathing.
He quickly stood up, not having even noticed he had been on the ground, gasping for air like he had been held underwater against his will and had finally been allowed to breathe, like his life depended on it. His vision was swimming and he almost tumbled over as he lost control of his body for a second when a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him.
It took a while for him to collect himself again. Keeping his balance required more effort than it felt like it should and even though it seemed to be evening everything was so bright it made his eyes water and hurt. There was no snow in sight, everything was green.
He seemed to be in the middle of some kind of a field. There was a path running through it and he could see trees and houses in the distance. Not the abandoned crumbling buildings riddled with zombies and littered with trash he was used to seeing, but actual houses. Being out in the open made him feel vulnerable and the need to hide and find shelter was taking over any coherent thoughts in his head.
Scar tried to piece together his thoughts, desperate to figure out where he was and how he ended up here. His whole body ached and he briefly remembered leaving his base for what he was sure would be the last time-
“Hello?”
It took all of Scar’s self-control to not scream. He almost fell again as he turned around too quickly for his weak legs to keep up with to face the source of the sudden sound. His head was still spinning and a shiver ran down his spine when he was faced with two people.
They both looked human, though that didn’t mean they couldn’t be enemies. He had been tricked before and he wouldn’t fall for that again. He had learnt very early on to not trust anything.
One of the strangers was taller, they had brown hair and some kind of a mechanical green eyepiece Scar had never seen before, while the other was shorter and older, wearing a lab coat. Both of them were looking at him, confusion and something akin to worry visible on their faces.
They both looked healthy, not scrawny and skinny like Scar knew he looked. Their clothes were clean and there weren’t any visible injuries on them. How were they this well off in the literal apocalypse?
Suddenly Scar was painfully aware that he must look exactly like he was feeling: like a small animal in headlights, about to face his fate, once again. He briefly wondered what god he had upset to deserve this.
His brain was screaming at him to do something and he felt like ripping his hair out trying to weigh his options. He could flee and hopefully outrun the strangers, but where would he go? The number of houses he could see indicated there must be more people around here and he didn’t want to run into anyone else. What if he ran and the strangers caught up to him? What if they deemed him dangerous and killed him immediately? Maybe death wouldn't be so bad. The mere thought of running made him want to collapse and never get up again.
The taller person suddenly took a few steps forward and Scar immediately scrambled back with a shout that came out more like a squeak and only made him feel even smaller and more fragile. The other man grabbed the taller person’s arm and gently pulled them back, away from Scar.
“Give him space, Iskall, he’s clearly distraught,” the man said, still keeping a sharp eye on Scar. Saying he was distraught was definitely an understatement but he could still appreciate the man’s concern, to some extent. If he didn’t feel so cornered he might have laughed at the irony.
“Sorry, sorry! Cub, you’re right,” the person, Iskall apparently, apologized quickly. These people didn’t seem like a threat, they were both in casual clothes and Scar couldn’t see any weapons on them. He still felt way too warm in his own gear, but he would deal with the suffocating feeling any day for the sense of security his equipment brought him.
Scar eyed them carefully. A part of him still wanted to run away and hide, have himself as his only company like he had for god knows how long and make sure he would never see these people again. Yet another part of him longed for human contact, longed for touch, and he was tempted to let the exhaustion win and fall into their arms.
His body froze and his brain went blank when a familiar noise brought him back from his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten and now there were monsters nearby and he could hear zombies groaning and maybe it had all been a trick to trap him here to finally die for good-
He tried to reach for his rifle, only to find nothing to grab onto on his back. His gun wasn’t there, his backpack was missing as well. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees, panic clouding his mind. Pressing his body to the ground and shielding his head with his hands he curled up, knowing the zombies would tear through his gear effortlessly when he couldn’t defend himself. It was only a matter of time before their teeth would sink into his flesh and rip him apart.
It was taking longer than he expected. Nothing had hurt him yet, nothing had even touched him. He heard clashes through the sound of his rapid heartbeat and blood rushing in his ears, like someone was fighting. Something fell to the ground next to him with a loud thump. He squeezed his eyes closed.
Maybe this was just a dream. Maybe the lack of sleep was making him hallucinate. He hadn’t seen other people in ages, why would he suddenly run into others? He didn’t even know how long he had been wandering the barren wastelands for, but there was never anything there. So why now? Nothing made sense.
“Hey, it’s alright, it was just some zombies. They’re gone now,” came the older man’s, Cub’s, voice. Scar couldn’t hear the groans anymore and somehow the man’s tone was calming him down. He slowly uncurled himself, sitting down on the ground, still trembling. He pulled his scarf up, covering the lower half of his face. He had already shown enough signs of weakness.
Iskall and Cub were both crouching down in front of him, the corpses of the zombies behind them on the ground. Both of the strangers had swords in their hands. They did have weapons, after all. Scar should have guessed that. Maybe they would let him be if he played along with whatever their thing was.
Scar wanted to protest that it wasn't just some zombies. They were bloodthirsty and violent creatures that could and would take anyone’s life if their defenses slipped and they had a moment of weakness. He couldn’t wrap his head around why these people were so calm about this. Who were they and how could they afford to be this careless? It was still dark and if more monsters appeared they could all die.
Iskall tried to reach out to him but quickly pulled their hand back when Scar violently flinched. He didn’t have the energy to try to get away from them anymore.
“Where am I?” Scar croaked out. His throat burned and his voice was weak.
“This is Kingdomcraft. I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re welcome to stay.”