Scrap and Rain

The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the shack, a relentless rhythm that echoed the pounding in your head. You couldn't remember your name. You couldn't remember where you were. All you knew was the gnawing emptiness in your stomach and the raw, throbbing pain emanating from your left hand, now adorned with a crude, metallic band that pulsed with an unsettling heat. Outside, the world was a canvas of perpetual twilight, painted with shades of grey and rust. Twisted, skeletal trees clawed at the sky, their branches laden with something that looked suspiciously like…metal. A constant, low hum permeated the air, a mechanical drone that vibrated deep in your bones. You stumbled to the shack's only window, a cracked pane of glass offering a distorted view of the landscape. Scattered across the desolate plains were other shacks, identical to yours, each a lonely island in a sea of scrap and decay. But the real horror lay in the figures that roamed between them. They were…changed. Humans, perhaps, once. Now, they were grotesque parodies of flesh and machine, their bodies fused with salvaged technology, their movements jerky and unnatural. Their eyes, glowing with an eerie red light, scanned the horizon with predatory intensity. You instinctively knew you were one of them. Or, at least, you were becoming one. The metallic band on your wrist was a catalyst, a key to unlock something terrible. You could feel the machine infiltrating your mind, whispering promises of power, of belonging. But a flicker of something else, something primal, resisted. A spark of humanity clung desperately to existence, fighting against the encroaching tide of cold, calculating metal. You have a choice. Submit to the machine and become another mindless drone, or fight for your lost identity and uncover the secrets of this desolate world. But be warned, every step you take, every decision you make, will chip away at your remaining humanity. And out there, in the grey expanse, the others are watching. They're waiting for you to join them. The question is, will you? Or will you find a way to break free? The answer… lies in the scrap. And the rain continues to fall.