For a moment the world was on [i]fire[/i]. 

There was no sign of the Zone's bouncer, instead the entrance he guarded was now a burning pile of rubble.  It was not so much the explosion that proved to be near deadly.  Rather the debris made of concrete, metal and glass could easily cut through human tissue.  

Sindile was a bloody mess.  His ears rang from the deafening blast and his vision was clouded from a mix of dust and smoke.  His body ached from lacerations, and shrapnel caused a sharp pain in his lower abdomen.  An elongated metal object had impaled him, no bigger than the size of his forearm.  With a shameless shriek of mind-numbing pain, Sindile yanked it off and angrily tossed it aside.  He took a moment to breathe, waiting for the pain to subside.  He rolled to the side first, getting a better view of the horror before him.  

This was no hell, but it's the closest anyone could get in this world.  As luck would have it, Sindile was outside the bar, having been vehemently denied admission to the Zone because of his race.  Sindile recalled the brute's savage racial insults, wondering now of the fate of the sunglasses-wearing tall numb skull.  Sindile crawled toward the damage, having realized that the explosion threw him at quite the distance.  The pain was beginning to diminish as his Sanguinist lineage began the slow healing process.  He stood this time and gingerly walked towards the Zone.  He prayed he would find survivors.  As a Sanguinist, he could feed them and never die from blood loss.  Hopefully his open wounds could be detected, at least by those who were fortunate enough to endure.  

"Is anyone alive?"  He called out.  

God help them.  Everyone will be crying for blood.