A lone figure wanders through the rubble of the once beautiful city. They're covered in soot from the explosions not five hours prior. Above, the crows circle hungrily, watching, waiting. Part of a building collapses and the person jumps, sunlight glinting for a moment off of sunglasses perched precariously on their head.
Crouching down, they dig around in the rubble as if searching for something or someone. A hand is uncovered. They gasp and double their efforts, uncovering more of the unconscious form trapped beneath the debri, sliding the body out. A hand is placed against their neck, wrist, searching desperately for a pulse.
Finding none, the lone survivor throws back their head and let's out a lonesome, grief-stricken cry.
Your name is Dave Strider and you have just lost the love of your life