Unraveling Metropolis

Panic ruled the streets. The freeways, once arteries of relentless traffic, had become graveyards of abandoned cars. Families fled their vehicles, grabbing what little they could carry as the flames closed in, the heat so intense it warped the asphalt and shattered windshields. Horns blared endlessly, the sound rising into a cacophony of desperation as people pushed, screamed, and ran, all sense of order collapsing under the weight of survival.

Above them, the once-mighty freeway bridges groaned under the strain. Years of neglect had weakened their foundations, and the relentless fire finished the job. Steel supports warped and buckled, concrete crumbled, and one by one, the bridges began to collapse. Massive chunks of debris tumbled onto the gridlocked roads below, crushing cars and cutting off any hope of escape for those trapped behind the wreckage.

Everywhere, mass hysteria spread like its own kind of wildfire. People clawed at one another for space on the choking roads, dragging children, elderly parents, or even just backpacks of possessions they refused to leave behind. Fights broke out over bottles of water, over space in a pickup bed, over the sheer terror of not knowing what to do.

The fire was no longer the only enemy. Fear had made the masses feral, their desperation turning them against one another. Looters dashed through abandoned shops and homes, grabbing anything of value, their silhouettes flickering against the raging inferno behind them. Others fell to their knees in prayer, begging for a miracle as the flames consumed everything they had ever known.

Helicopters roared overhead, but they brought no rescue—only cameras. The media broadcasted the chaos in real-time, panning over the packed freeways and glowing hellscape of the city. The reporters spoke in grim tones of the "unprecedented disaster," their voices detached and clinical, as if narrating a spectacle rather than a tragedy.

At one point, an oil refinery near the city limits exploded, the fireball lighting up the night sky like a second sun. The blast echoed for miles, knocking people off their feet and sending shockwaves that cracked windows in areas the fire hadn’t yet reached. A plume of black smoke rose higher, joining the dense, toxic cloud that already blanketed the city.

For those still trying to flee, it was clear there was no escape. The roads were impassable, the air unbreathable, and the fire unstoppable. In the chaos, people began to abandon hope. Some huddled together, holding loved ones close and whispering final words as the flames approached. Others ran blindly, their silhouettes vanishing into the smoke, swallowed by the firestorm.

Los Angeles wasn’t just burning—it was unraveling, its people scattering like ash in the wind. The once-mighty city was dying in real time, its collapse a horrifying testament to the fragility of human civilization when faced with nature’s fury and humanity’s own failures.