DATE: 25 | 05 | 2025 – MIDNIGHT
Kisimoto Sasukan sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building, cigarette between his fingers, barely lit. The city stretched below him—cold, indifferent, drowning in neon lights.
He exhaled. Smoke curled into the air, mixing with the night.
"You should be resting."
A voice. Low, familiar.
Kisimoto didn't turn. He flicked the lighter in his other hand, watching the flame dance.
"Can't." His voice was flat.
The man behind him sighed, stepping closer. "You're slipping, Kisi. You know what that means."
Kisimoto's grip tightened.
Yeah. He knew exactly what it meant.
Death.
FLASHBACK – THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS
The darkness pressed in from all sides.
Cold. Heavy. Endless.
Kisimoto stood in the middle of an empty street. No cars. No people. Just silence.
Then, he heard it.
Drip.
Drip.
Water pooled around his feet. Black, thick, wrong. It wasn't just water.
It was blood.
A shadow rose from the liquid, towering over him. A voice whispered his name—soft, familiar, but twisted.
"Kisimoto..."
He turned.
And saw his father.
But it wasn't him.
Not anymore.
His father's body was drenched, his clothes clinging to his decayed frame. His eyes—lifeless, hollow—locked onto Kisimoto's. Water dripped from his fingertips, from his hair, from the gaping wound in his chest.
Then—he moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Cold hands grabbed Kisimoto's wrist. A force yanked him forward.
Drowning.
Drowning.
Suffocating.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He was—
Kisimoto gasped awake, jerking upright in bed. Sweat clung to his skin, breath ragged, chest rising and falling too fast. His heart slammed against his ribs.
The motel room was dark.
His mother and sister were asleep in the next room. Everything was normal.
But the feeling remained.
Something was wrong.
He swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his face. The air was stale. His hand instinctively reached for the knife under the pillow.
A habit. A necessity.
Then—he heard it.
Soft. Barely there.
A footstep.
Kisimoto's body went rigid. He slowly turned his head toward the window.
A mistake.
Because someone was standing outside.
Not a dream. Not a shadow.
Real.
Kisimoto's breath caught in his throat.
A man in a black coat stood beneath the flickering streetlight. His face was hidden, but his posture was too still. Too focused.
Watching.
Waiting.
Kisimoto's fingers curled around the hilt of the knife. His instincts screamed at him.
"Move"
"Do something."
But before he could—
The man lifted a single finger to his lips.
"Shhh..."
Kisimoto froze.
Then—
A blink.
The man was gone.
Kisimoto shot up from the bed, throwing open the window—nothing. No footsteps. No sound. Just the empty street.
But the feeling didn't leave.
Something was wrong.
(murmuring) "What about the shadows I talk to, all the time..."
Something really bigger than what someone can't even imagine was taking place...
And it wasn't going to stop.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.
TO BE CONTINUED...