Silence lasted for a fraction of a second.
Then came the storm.
The officer, frozen as if he'd seen a ghost, leapt to his feet. His face turned pale, and his fingers trembled on the grip of his weapon.
"Code red!" he screamed through the precinct hall. "CODE RED, DAMMIT!"
A shrill alarm tore through the air. The walls shook under the sudden rush of boots and bodies. In less than ten seconds, the hall was flooded with tense uniforms, hands on holsters, eyes sharp and locked on a scrawny teenager, dark glasses on his face, and a growling guide dog at his feet.
Rex.
He barked, more agitated than ever. Rays stood still. Frozen between two heartbeats. His breath held captive by the chasm inside him.
And all around… gazes full of suspicion, fear, judgment. As if they were looking at a bomb about to detonate.
The commander appeared. A mountain of a man, imposing frame, natural authority. He never needed to shout—his low voice was enough to silence any room. As he approached, he frowned at the absurd scene. His eyes swept the crowd, then locked onto Rays.
"You. Follow me to my office. Now."
A murmur of confusion rippled through the hall. Rays slowly turned his head toward the voice. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, wavering.
"…I can't see. Could you… help me walk?"
The silence hit like a slap.
The commander spun around, grabbed the officer who had raised the alarm by the collar, and lifted him with one hand.
"What the hell is wrong with you, kid?! You sound the alarm over a blind teenager? Don't you see his eyes? Don't you see the dog?"
The officer stammered. Around them, some looked away, others tensed. The commander let go, straightened up, and turned back to Rays. His tone had changed—cold, official, detached.
"You listening, kid? We all know life's hard. But lying about something like this? That's serious. You're playing with fire."
Rays remained motionless. Each word from the commander slid over him like a blade. He said nothing. Didn't move.
"…I'm not lying," he said quietly.
"Then prove it."
Silence. Time shattered like glass.
Rays searched for words. Nothing came. He felt ridiculous. Exposed. Worthless.
"…My name is Rays," he whispered. "That's all I know how to say."
The commander squinted. He signaled to an officer.
"Run his file."
A few minutes later, the dossier arrived. He read it. His jaw tightened.
Name: Rays.
Orphan.
Living alone since age 18.
Address: dilapidated housing, Zone C13.
Note: abandoned at birth. A message pinned to his chest—
"Sorry. We can't take care of a child. Our parents will kill us."
No one said a word.
The commander slowly closed the file and placed it on the counter.
Then, without a word, he walked over to Rays and gently took his arm.
"I'll take you home."
⸻
The building looked like the city had vomited it out.
A crumbling façade. Walls blackened by damp. Stairs groaning under the weight of regret.
No elevator. Each step wailed like it was ready to collapse. At the top, a door warped by age. Rays unlocked it.
Inside, it was worse.
No light. No heating. Cold had claimed the place long ago.
The open fridge revealed rotting food. Frozen meals from winters past. A stench—rancid, acrid. The kind of smell that clings to the soul.
Rex entered, circled once, then lay at his master's feet. A sentinel between him and the void.
The commander stood frozen in the doorway. He said nothing.
He couldn't.
So he left. Went down. Took out the trash. Ran to the store. Filled two bags. Then three. Then stopped at a food stand and bought everything warm he could carry. Something real. Something alive.
He came back. Didn't knock. Just entered. Set it all down.
Rays hadn't moved.
The commander unpacked the meals one by one and placed them on the tiny table.
"Come eat."
Rays stood up cautiously. Crawled on all fours. His hands trembled.
He tasted it.
And smiled.
A thin smile. Tired. But a smile nonetheless. Real. Disarming.
The commander looked away. That smile... it pierced his chest.
He had dreamed of having a child once. And now, he wondered if it wasn't better to never have one. Better than birthing a child and leaving them to rot in darkness. A world capable of such abandonment—did it even deserve children?
He stood. Slowly. Gathered his things. Paused at the doorway.
"I don't know if you'll survive, Rays. But… you're more alive than all the walking corpses out there."
And he vanished down the stairs.
⸻
Silence returned.
Thick. Dense. Brutal.
Rays set the spoon down. His back slumped. He leaned forward. His arms folded over his stomach.
And he cried.
Not like a hero. Not like a martyr.
Like a forgotten child. Like a kid who had never been told he deserved love.
"I thought you… had left me too," he whispered to Rex.
But Rex whimpered, came closer, and rested his head on Rays' knees.
A touch. A promise. A life.
⸻
Then the world collapsed.
The warmth vanished.
No apartment. No Rex. No table. No meal.
Just emptiness.
And a voice. Inhuman. Sharp.
Welcome to the First Stage of Regret.
Rays bolted upright, trembling.
"Who's there?!"
Nothing.
Only the void.
And the crushing weight of thousands of tears… never shed.