Part : 3
Tittle : Something more sinister than a psychological problem
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The wind howled, a mournful cry that echoed across the rooftop. Jeon Jungkook stood facing a figure cloaked in shadow, a man clad in archaic knight's armor. The knight's face was obscured by a deep hood, but twin points of glowing grey light pierced the darkness, fixing Jeon Jungkook with an unnerving stare. The figure was eerily familiar, a distorted reflection of himself.
Without a word, the knight extended a gauntleted hand, pushing Jeon Jungkook backward. The world tilted, the city lights blurring into a dizzying vortex. He felt the cold, empty air beneath him, the sickening lurch of falling.
He gasped, his eyes snapping open. He was back in his penthouse bedroom, the city lights painting the room in a soft, ethereal glow. It was a dream, a nightmare, vivid and unsettling. He sat up, his heart pounding against his ribs, the phantom sensation of falling still clinging to him.
He rose, his movements stiff, and walked into the sleek, minimalist bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake off the lingering dread. He lifted his head, and his breath caught in his throat.
The mirror, usually pristine, was marred by a crimson handprint. A large, wide handprint, smeared and dark. He stared at it, his reflection a pale, shocked face against the bloody stain. A cold dread crept up his spine.
He moved closer, his eyes narrowing. The size of the handprint was unnervingly familiar. He traced the outline with his finger, a chilling realization dawning. It was his.
He looked down at his own hand. It was stained with blood, the same dark crimson as the print on the mirror. A tremor ran through him. He lifted his hand to his head, his fingers finding a matted patch of hair, a sticky warmth. His fingertips came away red.
His blood.
He stared at his reflection, his eyes wide with disbelief and growing horror. His head was bleeding, a slow, steady trickle that stained his temple. The blood on his hand, the handprint on the mirror, it was all his.
What had happened? Where had this blood come from? The dream, the knight, the fall... it was all a jumbled mess of fragmented images, a terrifying puzzle with missing pieces.
Jungkook recounted the night's events, his voice low and strained, to Taehyung. The words tumbled out, a chaotic mix of dream fragments and the stark reality of the blood. "The knight... the fall... the blood... it doesn't make sense."
Taehyung listened, his brow furrowed, his usually playful eyes now filled with concern. "Jungkook, are you okay? What happened to your head, shit, that's bleeding bad."
Jungkook shook his head, his dark eyes fixed on some unseen point in the room. "No. Someone's doing this. This isn't random. Someone is trying to mess with me." He repeated, his voice gaining intensity, "Find him. Find who is doing this."
Taehyung exchanged a worried glance with Jimin, who stood silently by the window. "We will," Taehyung assured him, placing a hand on Jungkook's shoulder. "But first, we need to make sure you're okay."
Seokjin, a doctor and a close friend, arrived, his medical bag in hand. He examined the wound on Jungkook's head, his touch gentle but firm. "This needs stitches. It's not deep, but it's enough."
As Seokjin worked, the conversation continued, a tense undercurrent running through the room. "Was it a dream?" Jungkook asked, his voice a low growl. "Or is reality turning into a dream? How do I explain the blood? And if I fell from that height, how am I still alive?"
Taehyung and Jimin began their own investigation, checking security footage and interviewing building staff. After a few hours, Taehyung returned, his face grim. He held out his phone, a video playing on the screen.
Jungkook stared at the footage. It was him, or someone who looked exactly like him, standing on the rooftop. Then, the figure was pushed, and he fell. The footage was grainy, but the figure's face was clear. It was Jungkook's.
He stared at the screen, his mind reeling. "What... what is this?"
"It's you, Jungkook," Taehyung said, his voice heavy. "But... it doesn't make sense. There's no body, no trace of you at the bottom. The police found nothing."
Jungkook felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. "It's not possible," he whispered.
"We think," Jimin said, his voice soft, "you need to see a psychiatrist. As soon as possible."
Jungkook remained silent, his gaze fixed on the screen. The footage was undeniable, yet it defied all logic. He looked up at his friends, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and confusion.
"Fine," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Fine. Let's see what they have to say." He knew, deep down, that this was more than just a medical issue. This was something else, something dark and unknown.
Jungkook's voice was a low, strained murmur, his eyes haunted. "It's not just this time. I've seen him before. The knight. In my dreams. Always the same figure... always the same glowing eyes."
He paused, his gaze drifting to the bloodstained mirror, a chilling reflection of his fractured state. "But before, they were just dreams. Now... now they're bleeding into reality. Or maybe... reality is bleeding into them."
Taehyung and Jimin exchanged uneasy glances. Seokjin, still tending to the wound, listened intently, his brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?" Taehyung asked, his voice soft.
"I mean," Jungkook continued, his voice trembling slightly, "that what I thought were nightmares... they're happening. I remember... killing some boys in a dream. Brutal... violent. But then I remember taking a little girl home, scared and alone. And another time, fighting off men harassing a woman in a dark alley. All… at night. My dreams are always at night."
He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the matted blood. "It's like... two realities are colliding. And I don't know which one is real anymore."
The footage on Taehyung's phone played on a loop, the image of Jungkook falling from the rooftop a stark, undeniable truth. "This," Taehyung said, pointing to the screen, "this is real. But it shouldn't be. You should be dead."
"And the blood," Jimin added, his voice low, "the blood on your hand, on the mirror... it's real too. Seokjin confirmed it's yours."
Jungkook's gaze hardened, a flicker of something dark and desperate in his eyes. "Someone is doing this. Someone is manipulating me. Making me see things... do things."
"But why?" Seokjin asked, his voice calm but concerned. "And how?"
Jungkook shook his head, his jaw clenching. "I don't know. But I will find out."
He looked at his friends, his eyes pleading. "We need to figure this out. All of it. The knight, the dreams, the blood, the footage. It's all connected."
"We will," Taehyung assured him, his voice firm. "But we need to be careful. This is... beyond anything we've ever dealt with."
"And," Jimin added, his voice hesitant, "you need to see a psychiatrist, Jungkook. We need to rule out any... psychological factors."
Jungkook hesitated, his pride battling with the growing fear inside him. He knew they were right. He couldn't ignore the evidence any longer.
"Fine," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "But this... this isn't just in my head. This is real. And I will find out who's behind it." He looked at the mirror, his reflection a ghost of his former self. "Even if I have to tear down the walls of reality to do it."
Days bled into nights, a blur of frantic research and hushed conversations. Taehyung, Jimin, Seokjin, Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok were a tight-knit unit, their focus laser-sharp on finding a psychiatrist who could navigate the labyrinth of Jungkook's fractured reality. The search was proving difficult; the intensity of Jungkook's experiences was beyond the scope of typical psychological evaluations.
Meanwhile, Jungkook's dreams, or whatever they were, intensified. He woke with a jolt, his body slick with cold sweat. The image of a dark, rain-soaked street, a lifeless body sprawled beneath a flickering streetlight, and the sickening thud of a blunt instrument lingered in his mind.
He stumbled into the bathroom, his movements heavy and disoriented. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the lingering dread. As he lifted his head, a prickling sensation crawled up his spine. He felt a presence, an unseen watcher in the room.
He spun around, his eyes scanning the empty space. Nothing. Just the sterile white tiles, the gleaming chrome fixtures, and his own reflection in the mirror, pale and drawn.
Then, he heard it. A voice, low and resonant, echoing in the silence. It was his own voice, yet deeper, more guttural, with a chilling edge he didn't recognize.
"What are you looking for?" the voice asked, the words echoing in the confines of the bathroom.
Jungkook froze, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at his reflection, searching for any sign of movement, any indication that he wasn't alone.
"Who's there?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Silence. Then, the voice again, closer this time, a dark chuckle echoing in his ears. "Me?"
The sound sent a shiver down his spine, a cold dread that settled deep in his bones. He felt a sense of violation, as if his very being was being invaded.
He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white. "Show yourself," he demanded, his voice trembling slightly.
The laughter echoed again, a low, menacing sound that seemed to emanate from within him. "You already see me. You just don't want to admit it."
The words hung in the air, a chilling accusation. Jungkook stared at his reflection, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. Was he losing his mind? Or was something else, something far more sinister, at play? The line between reality and nightmare was blurring, and he was being pulled into the darkness.
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To be continued ~