A Shephard- ZoC Introduction

Been thinking about this one for a while. Lets give it a go.

You are running. Your lungs are on fire. The stale air you breathe through your mask making it more difficult, but you do not dare to take it off.

Your chest feels as if it's trying to squeeze out of it's cage. Your arms groan, as if asking why you continue to lug the useless rifle in your arms.

Your feet are soaked as you run through this swamp; the tall, beige reeds obscuring your view.

Your view as you desperately scan for any signs of abandoned civilization. Somewhere to take shelter from-

You hear another groan, as if the entire sky was encapsulated within a steel ship hull; running itself aground against the craggy rocks of it's own demise.

The ambient light getting darker as the atmosphere turns itself from a sickly green into a sinister red.

You continue to run, ignoring the protest of your legs.

Your mind working a hundred miles per hour, thinking of anything that could lead to your salvation.

Thinking back to the only other time you experienced this. It was a lot calmer then. You were being led into a basement by a man who appeared to have aged beyond his years.

You didn't understand it then. You didn’t understand, and still don’t, a lot about this place. But you needed to ask then

"What happens if you're caught outside?" as you descended the stairs.

Not looking back, he explained "There’s a small chance it will cook your brain."

"So, otherwise you'd be fine?" you retort, not understanding the seriousness of his words.

"No," he says as he turns around you look at you grimly, staring at you with those pale eyes, "people were not meant to survive an emission."

That last sentiment from a week ago echoes in your mind, as you fruitlessly dash through this swamp; dread now replacing the pain in your heart.
It was a mistake. You want to cry out in anguish at the unfairness of it. That it wasn’t your fault that you are here. That it’s not right that the swamp refuses to give you shelter, to provide an answer to your folly.

You cannot see over the reeds; they only mock you as they provide a maze from salvation; snapping as you run through them.

It goes quiet for a moment. You stop. Is it over?

As if to slap you for your naivety, you hear the distant echo of the world itself breaking; the fast approaching blast you have time to barely notice as it sails through the distant trees right at you.
You scream as it slams you backwards; but not from the pain of the impact. Your rifle takes the brunt of the blast as it sails over your head, but you’re unable to notice that.

The only thing you can notice your entire head feels as if it caught ablaze. That terrible burning sensation as if you grabbed a pot that was still too hot. But you cannot let go. For the feeling comes from within your skull. The burning only intensifies, and you cannot notice anything else, not even the screaming muscles as you grab your head and roll on the ground.

You cannot notice the sky is still red. That the ominous cracking and muffled groans of a world pushed too far are intensifying once more.

You cannot notice the pressure on your coat as you grabbed by something.

You cannot notice anything as it is all too much for you, and you start to pass out right as the world seems to fall silent again.

The last sound you cannot notice over your screams is that terrible echo approaching once again.