"The last thing I remember feeling was fear. After that, I just became... a witness. Watching myself walk forward," a shadow muttered, stumbling from the rubble of a collapsed building. His clothes were ragged. His face, smeared with dirt.
Around him, the world lay in ruins—Cracked streets. Shards of glass glittered like fallen stars. Burnt-out cars sat like abandoned corpses. Silence clung to the air, heavy and watchful. Windows gaped like hollow eyes, staring without meaning.
His face was unreadable—Cold. Expressionless. No rage. No sorrow. No fear. Just a blank slate—worn thin by too much loss. He kept moving forward with slow, steady steps, as if on autopilot. As if his body remembered how to walk even though his mind had wandered off somewhere far away.
Above, the sky churned in sickly shades of gray. The clouds hung low, bloated with something more than snow. A bitter wind crept through the ruins, laced with the scent of rust and rot.
Then, quietly—almost gently—the first snowflake fell.
Light. Fragile. Almost beautiful. Almost wrong.
He stopped.
For a long moment, he stood still, the silence pressing in like a breath held too long. Then, slowly, without a word, he raised his bare hand—fingers trembling slightly in the cold. A snowflake landed on his palm. Delicate. Fleeting. It melted as it touched his skin, leaving behind a trembling droplet.
He stared at it.
Then, slowly, he looked up at the sky.
And that's when it happened—the faintest smile, almost imperceptible, tugged at the corner of his lips like a crack on ancient stone.
It wasn't warmth. It wasn't hope. But it was something.
Something... human.
It had been a month since the world fell apart. Since the line between humans and monsters faded like breath on cold glass.
"When did it all begin?"
"Maybe... a month ago.
Back when I came to this city for a completely different reason.
Back when I still believed tomorrow would look like yesterday.
Back then, I thought peace was a place. Now I think... maybe it's just the absence of noise inside your head."
He sank to the ground.
"Honestly... I didn't come here to survive."
He closed his eyes.
"I came here to die."
---
[One Month Earlier –November 26, 2020]
The sun sat high in the sky, gently spreading its golden light in all directions. A soft, cool breeze danced through the streets.
In front of City Mall, a teenager sat on a bench, a cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes. Earphones in, he hummed along to a tune only he could hear. His clothes were sharp, stylish—clearly picked with care. A sleek backpack rested on his lap, while beside him, a guitar case leaned casually against the bench.
He looked... content. At peace, even.
Just then, his phone buzzed.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Ken sir? You booked a cab, right?"
"Yeah, I did. Are you nearby? At City Mall yet?" He glanced around.
"Sir, look to your right... right here!" The driver waved from the cab window.
"Oh, there you are. Come a little closer." Ken waved back.
The cab rolled up in front of him. Ken grabbed his backpack, slung the guitar case over his shoulder, and walked over.
"Good morning, sir!" he said with a grin as he opened the door.
"Very good morning, sir!" the driver echoed cheerfully.
Ken tossed his bags inside and got in.
"Shall we, sir?" the driver asked playfully.
"Yes, sir," Ken replied, matching the energy.
——————
"So... Sir? You're headed to 'Kirisaka-mura', right?"
"Yep. And by the way, you don't need to keep calling me 'sir.' I'm still young—and probably younger than you. You know that, right?" Ken replied.
The driver chuckled. "Fair enough—no more 'sir' then."
"Perfect."
—Kirisaka-mura – 60km Away—
"So," the driver glanced at the rearview mirror, eyeing the guitar case, "you in a band or just a student?"
"Hmm? Nah, neither," Ken said, resting a hand on the case. "I just like playing. That's all."
"Oh, so you're not a student?"
"Nope."
"I thought maybe you were heading to Kirisaka-mura for college or something."
Ken chuckled. "Haha, nah. I've studied enough for a lifetime. Just want some peace now."
"Ah... so you have family there?"
Ken leaned forward, placed a hand on the back of the driver's seat, and in a mock-serious tone said, "Sir... too many questions. Planning to kidnap me or something? Just a heads up—I know how to fight."
"Whoa, whoa!" the driver laughed nervously. "Not at all! I'm just a decent guy. Not into shady business, I swear! Just trying to make conversation. My music system's busted. That's why..."
Ken grinned, giving his shoulder a light pat. "Relax, I was just kidding. Truth is, I don't know anyone there. Just heading out... planning to spend the rest of my life in that place."
"O-oh... I see. That's... something."
The cab slowed as they reached a toll plaza. The driver reached for his wallet and paid the toll.
Suddenly—THUD!—Ken smacked the back of the driver's seat and burst into laughter.
"Wait—are those flower-patterned socks? Are you seriously wearing girl socks right now?"
The driver glanced down at his mismatched feet, sighed, and shook his head.
"Nah— It's not what it looks like. It's just one sock. My wife said it meant something. 'You're always leaving something behind,' she once told me. Some poetic crap like that. That was her way of justifying it."
Ken raised an eyebrow. "And that somehow led you to wear one of her socks? Ha ha ha..."
The driver smiled sheepishly.
BEEP! A car behind them honked. He started the engine again.
"Alright, alright, let me explain before you roast me more. Back when we were dating, we took a trip to Kyoto. I lost a sock there—never found it. She thought it was hilarious. So she gave me one of hers and said, 'Now we're a proper pair.' Been wearing them like this ever since."
Ken gasped dramatically. "That's adorable. Want me to whip out my guitar and serenade you two?"
The driver laughed. "Nah, spare me. I just... got lucky, I guess. Found someone who fits with all my mismatched parts."
"Oh wow," Ken rolled his eyes. "Look at you bragging about your love life. What next? A honeymoon trip?"
"Oh— and on our honeymoon—"
"Ayyy! No more fairy tales, Romeo," Ken groaned, covering his ears. "Let a lonely guy live in peace."
...
Their laughter lingered—until the road ahead changed everything.
From the opposite lane, a car hurtled toward them at a terrifying speed. An older man was behind the wheel—but something was deeply... off.
His eyes were pitch black, oozing a thick, dark liquid that seeped like ink. From his nose too, that same revolting black sludge poured continuously—enough to make anyone nauseous. His face was twisted in an unnatural, horrifying way, half-consumed by shadows, making him look almost inhuman.
He had no control over himself—or the car.
And he was coming straight at them—from the opposite side.
"What the—has this guy lost his mind? Why's he driving in the wrong lane? And at THAT speed?" the taxi driver gripped the steering wheel tightly, eyes wide.
"Wait is he... drunk?" Ken thought, clutching the edge of his seat as the car raced forward.
Suddenly, Ken's driver swerved hard—tires screaming against the asphalt.
The rogue car missed them by mere inches—metal nearly kissed metal.
Ken slammed back into the seat with a jolt. "Be careful! I'm not ready to die like this!" Ken snapped, breath ragged.
The driver yanked the wheel again and then—BAM!—he slammed on the brakes.
"Hey! I said, I don't wanna die today!!" he shouted.
"Holy... that was too close," the driver whispered, adrenaline still racing. "Any closer, and today would've been our last rest day," he muttered.
He glanced into the rearview mirror. "You okay back there?"
Ken swallowed hard. "Y-yeah, I'm fine... Thanks to you... Turns out you're a pretty good driver."
Before they could process what just happened, a thunderous crash echoed behind them.
Both turned to look through the rear window.
The rogue car had collided full-speed with a parked vehicle, at the side of the road.
Smoke rose into the air. And then—silence.
Until the driver's side door creaked open.
And out stepped the rogue driver.
No blood.
No limp.
No visible wounds.
Just... that black liquid, on his face.
He moved like a marionette whose strings were severed. His head tilted unnaturally, limbs moving loosely, eyes blank—drowned in black.
His body moved like it had forgotten how to be human. Then—he stood straight. Almost normal. He wiped his face with his shirt. It looked almost clean—no visible scratches.
Ken and his driver didn't blink. Not out of fear—but confusion.
"HEYYY, YOU IDIOT! What the hell did you just do to my car?!" a man came sprinting from a nearby shop, red-faced and furious. He grabbed the rogue driver by the collar. "You motherfu—do you have any idea how expensive that was?! Who the hell taught you how to drive?!"
Then—crack—he punched him square across the face.
The rogue man didn't flinch. Didn't react.
By now, a crowd had already gathered—thick and loud, forming a tight wall of bodies. Blocking Ken and the driver's view completely.
"What's going on over there? I can't see a thing from here." The driver muttered, trying to crane his neck. But it was no use.
"That crash looked nasty... but that guy didn't seem hurt at all," he continued. "Looks like the airbag deployed just in time and might've saved his life. Still, I think we should go check on him—just to be sure everything's really fine."
Ken didn't answer right away. He leaned back "...Or maybe not," he finally said.
"Huh?"
Ken exhaled, his voice quieter now.
"What's the point? What are we even supposed to do? Help? With what? We both saw it—he's perfectly fine, and now he's getting beaten. No one's screaming. A cop'll show up soon enough. If we head over, we're just getting in the way. And honestly... he looked drunk. Whatever comes next, that's on him."
He paused "We're safe. That's what matters, right?"
The driver hesitated "Eh? Y-Yeah... I guess you're right. Nothing for us to do."
He turned the key in the ignition.
"Let's just move on".