I’m a huge fan of spending time alone, but getting this much is starting to drive me insane.

After the flashes disappeared, I realised I was far away from the Town Square in one of the alleys. The energy that surrounded me was gone, and the blue circle on my HUD was now white.

What? I thought.

I’m not sure which was louder—my heart pounding against my chest as I leaned my forehead against a brick wall, or the ensuing stampede that would inevitably reach me. I jogged through the maze of walls and pipes until I ended up outside Ivory Inn, a place tucked away on the town’s outskirts. 

I barged into the lobby, and a tanned man in a modest sleeveless blazer paced forward from behind the counter. “Sir, we’re not taking any more reservations. We’re closed.” He attempted to jog past me, but I blocked him with my arm.

“Just one room, please!” I shook him by the shoulders, crumpling the white button-up he wore underneath. “Please! I’m not going back out there, I’m—” I looked down at the off-white marble floor, putting my body weight on the man.

Blazer Guy glanced at the entrance and huffed. “It’ll cost you.” I let go of him. 

“I don’t care,” I pulled up my Wristool, following what I learnt from Yoona earlier. I chose the option to give him the maximum amount of credits I could. “You want my cash? You got it. Just get me a room.”

Blazer Guy brought up his Wristool to find a notification waiting for his confirmation. I tense as his finger stays stagnant above “Accept”.

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah,” My gravelly reply escaped my throat.

“Alright,” He said, accepting my offer. “Good luck.” He hollered behind him as he rushed to the door.

As I locked the room behind me and slid down with my back to the door, the crowd caught up to me in the alley, their stomping muffled by the room’s wooden interior. Some of them were crashing into the lobby, cursing the missing receptionist as I grasped my ears in a desperate attempt to block out the chaos. When gunshots began to ring across the alley, I pulled out my TRIN-12 and rested it on my kneecaps with both hands. With every blast, my shoulders jumped as I clasped my weapon tighter and tighter to the point where I could imagine the device shattering like Issac’s visor. I glanced longingly at the half-open blinds covering the window that overlooked the outside, trying to will it on its own. I shouldn’t have bothered—my legs had frozen and locked me into place anyway. Thus, for the next few hours, I fell into a routine I can only describe as pathetic. Check my weapon. Check for anything else in the room that can be used as a weapon. Check the door lock so no one can break in. Lather, rinse, repeat.

When the clock struck 7, it was already dark and eerily silent. The only source of light was the moon rays creeping into the room, casting dozens of bars across the wall, transforming my room into a jail cell in the meantime. I pulled the blinds shut as tight as I could and moved the desk across the single bed to the door to block it. Then, I pushed the bed until it left a gap between it and the wall opposite the door. I wanted to be as far away from the window as possible.

That night, I was so paranoid about being watched that I decided to shower with my trunks on. I placed the TRIN-12 on the soap rack in front of me and lathered shampoo onto my scalp with one hand while keeping the other on the weapon. Despite the soap stinging my eyes, I forced myself to keep my eyes fixed on the bathroom door. My gaze shifted as I took note of the droplets condensing on the tempered glass around me. I watched in amazement as the individual beads streamed down in a million different patterns, some merging with others in a race to the bottom.

How does one create a world as real as our own?

I decided not to think about the nitty-gritty and scrub the shampoo out of my hair.

…

While drying myself off, I’d managed to convince myself that everything that happened in the Town Square was a dream. It’s just a bad dream, Michael. You’ll wake up.

When I did wake up in the middle of the night, however, I realised that despite my prayers to the First or the Third or any other deity that would answer my cries for help, I hadn’t woken up back in my bedroom after all. 

I spent the next day surveying the room with the precision of the C.R.D. To check whether anything was off, I yanked the mattress off its bed frame, combed through all the desk’s drawers and rummaged through the closet. When I finished, all I came up with was a bread basket filled with a dozen coin pouch-sized buns, and two glass water bottles that came with the room. If I only took half a bun and a couple of sips every day, I could last two months.

I lasted a little over one.

Tonight, I’m basically slobbering over the final bun in my hands, going over every pore on its glossy surface. When I can’t take it anymore, I scarf it down noisily, careful to savour every bite. It might be the last thing I ever eat.

I sink in the sheets and try to get comfortable with my hands wrapped around the TRIN-12, its barrel facing the bed’s headboard. As I lie on my right shoulder with my legs curled for support, I attempt to sleep with my finger locked on the weapon’s trigger.

I manage to fall asleep for half an hour before I hear rustling to my left. It’s not particularly near, but it’s also a little too close for comfort.

Whether it’s a dream or not, I’m jolted awake by a gunshot that’s definitely in the room with me. I scream and shoot up in bed, aiming the gun at the darkness in front. As I shift my upper half from left to right, I catch a whiff of smoke wafting from my right.

Three triangles of pellet holes form a larger, inverted triangle in the headboard next to my head. I cough as the smoke seeps into my nostrils, giving me a dizzy spell as I gasp and let go of the shotgun, stumbling off my bed and dropping to my knees.

I want to cry, but I’m too dehydrated to do it.

My thoughts shift as my stomach croaks for sustenance. Now that I’m wide awake, I begin to think about where to find food.

Wait a minute—there were bakeries in the Town Square. There has to be one near the inn, right?

I glance back at the TRIN-12 on my bed, the last remains of smoke dispersing just above it.

I’ll have to go outside.

I unlock the room door slowly and aim the TRIN-12 between the crack. I peek through, only exposing half of my face to any potential enemies. 

A squelch comes from the sole of my boots. When I look down, I’m standing in a puddle of a red viscous liquid that looks like it’s glowing. I retch and step out of the pool. Wrapping my fingers around the handle, the shotgun’s barrel comes through, followed by my hand and eventually my entire body. 

Another pair of eyes are staring back at me from the ground.

I jump and fire the shotgun at his face. 

When I put it down, I realise he’s already dead, but he’s not the only one. Six other bodies in various states of decay are strewn all over the alley. Maybe the bad lighting in the alley isn’t so bad after all.

I close the door behind me and scan my surroundings, wincing when it clicks shut. Now that I’m outside, I peer into the window to check if I can look inside.

I can. I’d pulled the blinds to face me. Which meant I could still be seen from the outside. Which meant the rustling from earlier was real.

The revelation twists my stomach into a bundle of nerves. I want to run back inside, shut myself in the bathroom and scream.

But if I go back inside, I’ll starve and die anyway, won’t I?

Lit only by the faint gleam of street lamps thrice my height, I make my way down the alley. Voices in my head beg me to return to my room and die a peaceful death, but I block them out, keeping my mind focused on finding the bakery. It could be a figment of my imagination, faces are spawning in every nook and cranny–or where they shouldn’t be, on the walls and in other, even smaller alleys that must lead back to the Town Square. 

Find that bakery before you lose it.

In my peripheral vision, the alley behind me begins to radiate red. At first, I think it’s the ambience of the street lamps. When I turn around, I make a horrifying discovery.

My footprints are on the pavement, clear as day, emitting a ghoulish luminescence that lights up the alley.

I’m being followed.

…

With the Apostle dealt with, we stare up into the night sky for what feels like an eternity before Yoona breaks the silence. “Beautiful night, right?” She quips.

I ignore her. “How’d you know it was me?”

Yoona picks herself from the ground, shifting on her feet while she shakes her sore arm.

“Not you specifically, but the POS-15’s obnoxiously loud.”  She offers me her hand. I take it. 

I pick up the Apostle’s pistol from the ground and stumble back to her. She backs away hesitantly as I get closer.

My gaze drops to the weapon in my hands as I scoff at its heft. The Apostles’ insignia is stencilled on both sides, silently mocking me for the temptation of what to do next.

“I just spent the last thirteen and a half days losing my sanity,” I say, toying with the pistol. “Besides, if there are others like him, it might be better to end things now.”

“Woah, woah. There now,” She snatches the pistol out of my hands, withholding me from giving in to the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. “Can’t have you doing that. There’s important stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

“Taking down Apostle bases? Finding Enoch too.” 

Yoona checks how many rounds are left in the POS-15 and shuts the slide. When she sees the wound in my shoulder, she gasps.

I look away politely as Yoona throws up on the ground, barely supporting herself on her knees with quivering arms.

"You alright?" I ask as she coughs up the last batch of vomit.

Yoona nods, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She sighs and picks up the scarf from the ground, pulling it under my arm and over my shoulder to tie it around my wound.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Do you have food? I could really use one of those metal crows right now.”

She nods. “We’ll spend the night at your place,” She says. “Then we’ll leave for our base in the morning.”

…

Yoona says she feels bad that I’m sleeping on the floor, but I brush it off and say it’s to thank her for saving my life earlier. I don’t tell her the real reason why I was willing to compromise—I want to hide in the gap between the bed and the wall so there’s no chance of us being watched. After my mishap with the window blinds, I’m now on high alert.

I ensure the blinds are facing outwards and tug on the string as much as possible. As I shuffle over to the gap to sleep, Yoona points at the triangle hole in the backboard when she gets onto the bed. “What’s this?”

I cringe. “I was sleeping with the gun in my hands, and it went off.”

Yoona tilts her head quizzically. “That’s odd. You shouldn’t be able to use any weapons here.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” I lie down in the gap. “Wait, do you still have that guy’s gun?”

“Hmm?” Yoona says. “Yeah, it’s in my jacket, in the closet. Why?”

I stand up. “I’m keeping it with me,” I say, walking over the cupboard facing the bathroom door.

Yoona watches me with concern and eyes the holes in the bedframe. “Turn the safety on, at least.”

It almost feels melancholic when we prepare to leave at half past 4. It may be a quaint room, but it kept me safe from that mindless cult for two weeks. For the most part.

“Where are we going?” Yoona’s hand stays put on the door handle while I stare at the window blinds with unease. Upon hearing my question, she fidgets with the silver bar and purses her lips.

“I’m bringing you to meet some allies.”