"…We'll let you know. Best of luck."
Smile.
Firm handshake.
Door closes.
Click.
He stood there for a second. Staring at the polished wood of the office door like it might open again. Like they might lean out and say actually, we made a mistake — you're exactly what we need.
But it didn't.
Of course it didn't.
He turned, walked out of the building without a word.
The sky outside was gray and wet — that colorless kind of rain that wasn't heavy enough to justify an umbrella, but annoying enough to soak everything slowly. He opened his anyway. Black, half-broken, the kind that always leaned a little to one side.
His shoes squelched against the sidewalk. Cars passed. Horns honked. People talked into phones or rushed under store signs. The city went on exactly the way it always did.
'What do those bastards even want?'
His jaw clenched as he walked. Suit creased from the train ride. Resume still in his bag, slightly damp now. He'd graduated with good grades. Clean record. Interviewed well. Said everything he was supposed to say.
>'Am I not smiling enough? Not shaking hands hard enough?
What, do I need a perfect résumé and perfect hair now?'
The streetlamp overhead flickered. No one noticed.
He ducked into a small eatery. Plastic chairs. Aluminum tables. Menu in blocky fonts and cheap photos. He didn't care what it was. Just something hot.
Egg bowl. Rice. Soup on the side. He ate without tasting it, chewing like the food was an argument he was losing. People laughed two tables over. A couple watched something on a shared phone screen, smiling.
'I'm still young.
Still got time.
…Right?'
He stared at the half-empty bowl for a while, then stood up, paid, and left. The rain hadn't stopped. Neither had the city.
On the way home, he passed the convenience store. Same one as always. He didn't even think before going in. Just grabbed a small pack of cigars from behind the counter, paid, and walked out. The door chime beeped cheerfully as he left.
He lit one. Took a slow drag.
'Tastes like shit...When did I get get so used to this?
The smoke curled around the umbrella's edge, fading into the rain. He walked with his other hand in his pocket. Cars passed. Streetlights reflected in puddles. Everything normal. Mundane.
And yet—
His spine felt tight. Like something in the air was watching. Not a person. Not a presence. Just the world itself. Too quiet. Too seamless. Like a background loop stretched too long.
He reached the crosswalk.
The light turned green.
He stepped forward without thinking.
The street ahead was empty — a narrow lane, tucked behind his apartment block. Not the main road. No traffic lights humming above. Just a crosswalk painted years ago, half-faded, the kind people usually ignored.
He walked like he'd done it a hundred times.
Cigar between his lips, umbrella angled against the drizzle, smoke curling under the canopy. The city still buzzed behind him — cars on the main road, music leaking from a bar somewhere. Distant, muffled life.
His feet splashed through a shallow puddle.
Another step. Halfway across.
And then—
A breeze against his cheek. A quiet engine rumble.
A horn.
Close. Too close.
He turned.
A wall of light slammed into his vision. Bright, fast, impossible.
Tires screamed against the wet road — the shriek of rubber eating pavement. A massive shape rushed forward, out of nowhere, cutting through rain like it wasn't even there.
His breath caught.
Eyes wide.
Mind blank.
Where the fu—
The cigar dropped from his lips, fell slow, spiraling.
No time.
There was no time.
His chest clenched.
Body froze.
Thoughts scattered.
And then—
CRASS!!
Everything vanished into white.
---
He jolted up in bed, gasping.
Hand on his chest. Heart racing.
The room was dim, drowned in heavy shadows. Rain tapped against the glass like fingers. The faint glow of streetlights bled through the curtains.
He blinked.
Looked around.
His apartment.
The silence wrapped around him like something solid.
He let out a shaky breath.
'A dream.
Just a dream.
Damn, that was too real…'
He dragged himself out of bed, legs unsteady. The room tilted slightly as he stood, like his body hadn't fully caught up with consciousness.
Muscles ached.
Bones felt hollow.
He swallowed.
Dry.
Thirst scratched at the back of his throat — subtle but persistent. He needed water. That was all. Just a drink. Something cold.
He moved, barefoot against the floor.
No — not barefoot.
But the thought didn't register.
Not really.
He walked like a man still halfway inside sleep. Brain fogged. Limbs moving from memory, not thought. The kind of tired that seeps into the spine. Every step slow, underwater.
He didn't notice the weight of his shoes.
Didn't feel the tie against his chest.
Didn't question the clinging dampness in the folds of his suit.
Outside, the rain thickened, and the city beyond the glass shimmered in a way he didn't quite see.
Something in him still expected the truck.
-To Be Continued