The dust swirled around my worn boots, a miniature desert storm kicked up by the frantic thump of my own heart. The air hung thick and heavy, the scent of dry earth and something else… something metallic and sickeningly sweet, clinging to the back of my throat. It was the smell of blood. Old blood. New blood. The kind that stains the soul as deeply as it stains the earth.
I’d been clean for six months, six agonizing months of sweat-soaked nights and gnawing cravings, a testament to a willpower I never knew I possessed. Six months of staring at the cracked pavement, avoiding the shadowed corners where my past lurked like a hungry ghost. But tonight, the ghost had found me.
The scene unfolded before me like a grotesque tableau, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a dying moon. A body lay sprawled on the parched earth, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, a dark, blossoming stain spreading across the coarse fabric of his shirt. His face was obscured by shadow, but I could make out the grotesque contortion of his neck, the silent scream etched into his posture. Death had claimed him quickly, brutally, efficiently.
A few feet away, another figure stirred, a low groan escaping his lips. He was Mexican, I could tell from the weathered features and the thick, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood. His shirt was ripped open, revealing a gaping wound in his side, a crimson river flowing from it, staining the already blood-soaked ground. He clutched at his stomach, his breath ragged and shallow, a desperate, animalistic struggle for survival.

A chance encounter sends the players into a battle for their very lives, and even past that. If they survive it, there will still be consequences...