He flung the hospital door open, stepping onto the irradiated wasteland. His gaze examined the derelict buildings around him, desperately searching for human life. The invasive thump from the closing hospital door created an echo which surrounded his putrid body. In an effort to isolate himself from this scarred world he sprinted as far away from the hospital as he could, trying to isolate himself from reality.
Common sense had failed him many times before, but now it was his only weapon against the horrors of the hazardous wasteland that faced him.
As he started rushing towards the crimson buildings, he dropped the briefcase he had unknowingly been carrying since he woke up on the confined hospital bed. It was as if it knew of the imminent danger ahead, and was desperately trying to escape.
After painfully turning around, he looked down at the open briefcase, which had the name "Navashen Patel" written on it.
His father´s name
"The money is still there", he exclaimed to the non-existent audience in the empty avenue, like a gladiator in a coliseum surrounded by an absent spectacle-hungry crowd, followed by a cutting silence in which he remained for what felt like an eternity.