He recognized the scent immediately. It was while shooting in that dark, smelly alley, dimly lit by the neon lights of a bar that had long since closed. It wasn't the smell of gunfire, or burning flesh, or robots shorting out. It was something else, something that took him back to the past, when he was little and the city was a quiet place where he spent his evenings with friends or family.
When there was no longer any danger, he let himself be carried away by that scent. It was not something he was used to doing, quite the opposite: life in Zeelis consisted of escaping from everything. He reached some old garbage cans scattered next to the door of the abandoned bar. He felt a breath and brought his hand to the gun. He kicked the garbage cans away. A boy was sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball. Next to the boy was a backpack. He looked terrified, but in Zeelis no one could be trusted. He pointed the gun at him, but the boy wouldn't even look at him. He pulled the backpack closer with his foot, still pointing it at him, moved a little away and opened it. He knew those cardboard boxes, stained slightly with grease. He opened one. It was the first pizza he had seen in twenty years.
This is the beginning of a story for the contest organized by 
The text was originally written in Spanish and translated with Deepl.
The image is taken from the post resources Psyberx offers in his discord.
@agreste