ARC 0 — THE BLOODY QUESTION
Soundtrack mood: Low ambient hum, distant heartbeat, muffled ringing
It begins without context.
A blur.
A suffocating silence, thick enough to press against the chest.
The first thing Steve feels is wetness.
Something warm slides down his skin. His vision trembles as his eyes struggle to focus, lashes heavy, vision smeared as if the world itself is bleeding. A single drop falls from his eyebrow, slow and deliberate, landing somewhere below with a sound too soft to hear but loud enough to echo inside his skull.
When the blur clears, he realizes his body is covered in blood—not just splattered, but soaked. A sticky substance clings to his clothes, pulling at his skin like it doesn't want to let go. Around him, shapes stand still. Not human. Not fully monsters either. They don't move. They don't breathe. They simply watch.
Steve swallows.
His throat burns.
His voice comes out weak, almost embarrassed by its own existence.
"How… did I end up here?"
No answer comes.
Instead, the world breaks.
ARC 1 — A LIFE BEFORE GUILT (2008–2012)
Soundtrack mood: Soft piano, nostalgic warmth
Time pulls backward.
The city once breathed normally.
Children laughed without fear. Old men argued over nothing important. Women walked home without counting footsteps behind them. The sun still felt warm instead of cruel. It was a place where life happened without permission.
Tom didn't know any of that would end.
It was just a game—hide and seek.
He covered his eyes, counted loudly, smiled as he turned back around. He checked the usual places. Behind walls. Under staircases. Inside empty rooms.
Nothing.
At first, he laughed, assuming his friends were cheating.
Then he searched longer.
Then his laughter faded.
Because they weren't just hiding.
They were gone.
Not only his friends.
Children across the city vanished.
Old men disappeared from benches.
Women stepped into alleys and never came out.
Teenagers remained. Middle-aged men survived.
No pattern made sense.
People whispered explanations because silence was worse.
Aliens.
Ghosts.
A curse.
Days later, bones appeared.
Half-eaten remains were found in places that should never have held them.
The city learned fear.
And fear stayed.
ARC 2 — THE DAYS THAT FELT IMMORTAL
Soundtrack mood: Light guitar, summer wind, distant laughter
Before fear learned their names, before guilt learned Steve's face, there was a time when the city still allowed joy.
It was late afternoon when Steve and his friends raced their bicycles down the cracked road, tires screaming against the concrete as if they were challenging the world itself. The sun hung low, casting long shadows that stretched beside them like companions running just as fast. Laughter filled the air — real laughter, the kind that comes from lungs that don't yet know how to scream.
Danial crossed the invisible finish line first, lifting his hands in victory even before stopping. Ash came in second, skidding to a halt and nearly falling over as he laughed at his own recklessness. Steve slowed last, breathless, sweat dripping down his forehead, his legs burning — but he was smiling.
Not because he lost.
But because he was there.
"Guys," Steve said between breaths, hands resting on his knees, "you are seriously insane."
Ash grinned, wiping his face.
"Yeah, we know."
Danial turned his bike around slowly, looking at Steve with a teasing smile that carried no cruelty — only warmth.
"So, Steve," he said casually, "what about your new school? You said you're changing, right? Don't tell me you already got bored of us."
Steve froze for just a second.
Not long enough for anyone to notice.
"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Nothing like that. My mom just started working there. Tomorrow's my last day here."
The laughter faded — not completely, but enough.
Then Ash punched Steve lightly on the shoulder.
"Idiot," he said. "You should've said that earlier."
Danial stepped forward and pulled Steve into a hug — tight, rough, unpolished. The kind only boys give when they don't know how to say things properly.
"We'll miss you," he said quietly.
One by one, they all joined in. Arms overlapping. Sweat mixing. Heartbeats close enough to feel. For a moment, Steve felt something he would spend years chasing again —
Belonging.
When they finally separated, they waved, promised to meet again, argued about nothing important, and rode off in different directions, unaware that this was the last time the world would let them leave so easily.
The next morning, school felt normal.
Painfully normal.
Students talked loudly, chairs scraped across floors, teachers complained about unfinished homework. Steve sat among his friends, laughing at jokes that weren't funny enough to remember, listening to voices he assumed would always be there.
Then the alarm rang.
Sharp. Violent. Wrong.
The fire bell screamed through the building, slicing through the air like a blade.
Students froze.
"What's that?" someone muttered.
The teacher raised a hand, forcing calm into their voice.
"Everyone stay calm. Line up and move outside."
Steve stood, heart beating faster than it should.
As they walked, smoke crept into the hallways, thick and suffocating. Coughing began. Panic followed. Teachers shouted orders that collided with screams.
Somewhere between confusion and fear, Steve and his friends ended up on the terrace — a place they had escaped to countless times before to waste time, complain about life, and dream about futures they hadn't earned yet.
The door shut behind them.
They tried to open it.
It didn't move.
Footsteps echoed on the other side.
A hand turned the lock.
Steve heard a voice — calm, amused, almost gentle.
"Goodbye, my dear friends."
The footsteps faded.
Steve reached into his pocket.
The key slipped from his fingers, clattering against the ground before sliding away — gone.
Fire climbed the walls.
Smoke filled their lungs.
Panic shattered everything.
Danial and Ash grabbed Steve as the floor gave way beneath them.
They fell.
And the world never forgave him for surviving.