Arms and legs pumped. Muscles burned, and heart labored. Lungs ached in his chest. His pulse pumped in his ears, accompanying the muted thump of his bootheels to the broken pavement. Even the sound of his labored breathing sounded distant to his own ears. Sweat made his shirt cold and clammy, and it clung to his lean frame. He chanced a glance upwards from the broken pavement, and his sanity rocked. His heart skipped a beat, and he stumbled, careening into what had once been a brick wall. It exploded away from him, muted and grey, as if it had been struck by a wrecking ball. With a grimace, the Survivor spat the dust of sapped bricks from his mouth, and staggered to his feet once more. He couldn't shake that moment's glance from his mind. It wasn't that he couldn't see the sun. It was that the sky was gone. No sun. No moon. No stars. No clouds. But he could see. There was this impossible sort of un-light that seemed to follow him, casting his own shadow before him like a hole in the existence. The world was devoid of color. Of pleasure. Of substance. The last human the Survivor had seen was a week gone, consumed by the unreality. Now, there would be nothing left. Not even bones. Steeling his resolve, the survivor bit at the inside of his lip, 'till the sharp thread of pain, and the vividly alive flavor of copper brought his mind back to the present. Madness was bliss. Uncaring. But down that path also waited more than just death. Unmaking. Suddenly, something that should have been innocuous drew his attention like iron to a lodestone. The Survivor had never thought brown could be so colorful. So real. He redoubled his efforts, the familiar weight of his old bolt-action rifle weighing down on his shoulder, and adding a sense of security to his hopeful flight from the unseen, unnatural thing that had chased him through that dead world of his. The Survivor slowed as he reached the door. It was set in a crumbling building, and it looked entirely out of place. Thick, hearty wood with heavy hinges, and a well-polished brass handle. One calloused hand extended to grasp the handle, and he was equal-parts pleased and shocked at the sensational feedback. The cool, smooth metal was like a balm to his slowly breaking mind. A shiver ran down his spine, and the Survivor knew that the unreality had spotted him again. Without further hesitation, he slammed through the doorway, panting and perspiring. He stared agape at the scene before him.