The morning sun shone through the office windows, casting long shadows across the cubicles. Damian Reed sat at his desk, hunched over his computer, trying to make sense of the endless rows of numbers on his spreadsheet. He was an unassuming figure in the corporate world, known for being diligent but often overlooked. His life was a routine of monotony, punctuated by the harsh words of his boss, Amanda.
"Damian, I told you to have those reports on my desk by 2 p.m. sharp!" Amanda's voice pierced through the quiet hum of the office. Her fiery red hair and sharp, piercing eyes made her a formidable presence. She was known for her no-nonsense attitude and her ability to reduce employees to nervous wrecks.
"I'm sorry, Amanda," Damian stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "I'll get them to you as soon as possible."
Amanda huffed and stormed away, leaving Damian to his work. He sighed, feeling the weight of his thankless job pressing down on him. It seemed like he was always on the receiving end of someone's anger or frustration.
As the morning dragged on, Damian's coworkers slacked off and exchanged whispers. Although they did less work Amanda never got on their case. Damian was too preoccupied with his own problems to pay much attention.
When lunchtime finally arrived, Damian wasted no time grabbing his wallet and making a quick exit from the office building. The crisp autumn air was a welcome relief, and he decided to head to Empire City's Historic District, hoping for a brief escape from the stresses of his hectic life and Amanda's constant berating.
The Historic District was a place of forgotten beauty, with cobblestone streets, vintage lampposts, and centuries-old buildings that whispered stories of the city's past. As Damian strolled through the district, he marveled at the timeless charm that stood in stark contrast to the sterile corporate world he had just left behind. After a while, he made it to his favorite food truck and managed to grab a slice of pizza.
He settled on a park bench in a small, quiet square, nestled between historic buildings. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of tourists provided a soothing backdrop. Damian opened his pizza box and began to eat, his mind finally free from the confines of the office.
But then, in an instant, the tranquility shattered.
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A dome of what looked like a blueish-white electrical energy appeared and instantly grew covering the Historic District, sending shockwaves through the air. Damian had no time to react as his pizza fell from his trembling hands and the ground beneath him quaked. The last thing he saw was the sky above filled with fiery debris falling from the sky, as the electrical dome consumed him.
Before Damian could even process what was going on the crackling energy ripped him apart and he felt a searing pain the likes of which he had never felt before. As the pain tore through him Damian was sure he was going to die and then everything went black.
In the darkness, Damian couldn't think he could only feel an eerie sense of weightlessness. He couldn't see anything, but he was acutely somewhat aware of his own existence. The pain that had consumed him moments ago had faded, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness and an overpowering instinct to rebuild.
In the aftermath of the cataclysmic event, when the electrical dome dissipated, Empire City's Historic District lay in ruins. Fires raged unchecked, and the once-charming cobblestone streets and historic buildings were reduced to smoldering rubble. The chaos had given way to an eerie silence, broken only by the crackling of flames.
The Historic District had become a fiery nightmarish hell. It only thing left was shadows cast over the destroyed buildings by the flames. Amidst the devastation, in the heart of the district, something stirred. It was the consciousness of Damian Reed, or what was left of it, after being torn apart by the inexplicable energy of the dome. He had no physical form, no sensation, only a strange awareness of existence.
The overwhelming emptiness that enveloped him was accompanied by an insatiable instinct—an urge to rebuild, to take shape once more. But how could he do that when he no longer had a body? It was a perplexing and unsettling predicament.
Then something happened as an injured person was walking around and breathed their last breath as they fell bloodied next to it. It, the quivering mass of black and red goo crawled over to the deceased body and consumed it.
As it absorbed the remnants of the fallen person, he felt a surge of vitality course through him. It was as if he had gained a small piece of the person's life force, and with it, a fragment of their memories and experiences. It was a strange and disorienting sensation, in which it didn't understand what to do with. When it finished the annoying feeling that it could not describe disappeared momentarily before returning again.
It finally knew what it had to do. It had to find more and do what it did again so that this unknowable feeling would go away. Maybe it was because of what it just did but it seemed to have gained the knowledge on how to move and understood what it just did was called eating or consuming.
As the quivering mass of black and red goo, Damian Reed—though it could no longer be really called that—moved through the desolation of the Historic District, it sensed the faint traces of life around it. The cataclysmic event had left the area devastated, with injured and deceased scattered among the ruins.
The urge to consume, to absorb, grew stronger with each passing moment. It wasn't just a physical hunger; it was a compulsion driven by an inexplicable need to fill the void that had become its existence. It was as if it were a living abyss, devouring whatever he came across to sustain himself.
As he reached another fallen figure, the formless mass enveloped the lifeless body. It was an eerie and surreal experience. With each consumption, it gained not only their vitality but also fragments of their memories and emotions. It was a chaotic jumble of sensations, like drowning in a sea of other people's experiences.
Images flashed before it—moments of joy, of sadness, of love and loss. It tried to make sense of it all, to cling to some semblance of its identity amidst the cacophony of foreign thoughts and emotions. But it was a daunting task, like trying to piece together a single shattered mirror except more and more pieces were added as the task went on.