The alarm clock beside the bed rang persistently. It showed 7:00 AM.
"Oh... no. It's already morning?"
The man's hand slowly emerged from under the covers and switched it off.
"I want to sleep."
"But..."
He yawned deeply, his body heavy with morning laziness.
"But I have to go to work."
His right leg slid off the bed, touching the dark-green floor. He sat up slowly, then walked to the window, his hair disheveled from sleep.
"Bwhaaaah," he yawned, covering his mouth with his hand.
"Good morning, New Green."
"I'm so tired of these constant hunts. If only I could find another way."
"I can't remember anything from more than two years ago."
"But what's worse is that I have to deal with it."
A whisper in his mind: Release me tonight... or I take over.
"Sometimes, I stop believing I'm human at all after seeing what it's done to its prey."
"Even the thought of it makes me shake."
"No. I must live no matter what. I must find the truth."
He turned away from the window and headed to the kitchen.
He ate his breakfast quietly—the spoon clinking against the bowl, the coffee steaming in the cup. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the table. Each bite felt mechanical, his thoughts lingering on the night before.
Then he stepped out of his home.
Two men were carrying a large box in the corridor. "Clay Company," the label read.
Near them stood a woman, watching them work. She wore a long brown shirt, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders.
When she noticed the man, she turned her head with a warm smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Peterson." Her face lit up with genuine happiness.
"Oh, morning, Jane. I've told you, you can just call me Andrew." He grinned, raising his hand in a casual greeting.
"Oh... sorry, but 'Mr. Peterson' feels more comfortable for me."
"I know, but it makes me a bit uncomfortable to hear it all the time."
"Okay. I'll think about it later."
"What's in the box, Jane?"
"It's a new-gen fridge. The old one broke down."
"And how are you doing, Mr. Peterson?"
"I heard you always come home late. Please be careful—that Laughing Maniac killed another person. Even though he doesn't show up in our part of the city, it's still dangerous at night."
"Thanks for worrying about me, Jane. I'll be careful."
"I'm going to be late if I talk any longer. So goodbye, Jane."
"Goodbye, Mr. Peterson."
Andrew walked away and pressed the button for the lift.
He entered the lift.
This time there wasn't anyone else.
He looked at his watch.
8:30.
"Looks like I'm not going to be late."
"Jennifer Covington," he thought.
"She moved to room 365 four months ago."
"She's kindhearted. Always helps when asked."
"Oh... what am I even thinking?"
Ding.
The lift doors opened.
"It's already my floor?"
"Never mind. I should hurry or it'll close."
He got out of the lift and went to the street.
"Ring, ring. The bus from Northern New Green to Western New Green is about to start."
Andrew ran and managed to get on the bus.
There weren't many people on the bus.
It wasn't surprising—in the morning, few people headed to the other side of the city.
He sat down in one of the seats.
His head turned to the window.
His eyes were on the world outside the bus.
After thirty minutes.
"Lesley Street! If no one is getting off, the bus won't stop."
Suddenly, the bus stopped.
Andrew turned his head with a confused expression.
"Mister! There's nobody who wants to leave."
"Sorry, man. But you have to walk the rest of the way. There's a traffic jam," said the driver.
"What?! I'm going to be late!"
Andrew said and came closer to the driver.
After one look out the window.
"Sorry, I'll walk the rest."
He got out of the bus.
"I have to tell it never to kill anyone on the road," Andrew thought.
He looked at the beginning of the congestion.
The road was closed, policemen working there.
"The outline looks like a woman. And it seems her legs were cut off before the kill, if I'm not wrong," he thought while looking at the chalk drawing on the road.
"What a monster," he thought.
"Please, God. If you exist, free me from this," he prayed silently.
A tear fell from his right eye and rolled down his face.
He wiped it away with his suit sleeve.
"Sorry, but I also want to live normally. I hope you all will understand."
He turned his head away and continued walking.
After fifteen minutes, he reached a large building with lion statues flanking the entrance.
The sign above read "The King's Bank."
He climbed the steps and entered.
"Hi Andrew. You're late today," a voice called from inside.
It was a young man working at the registration desk.
He was slightly taller than average, with yellow hair and blue eyes.
"Hi, Tomas." Andrew replied with an uncomfortable smile.
"Yeah, there was a traffic jam on the road, so I had to walk the rest of the way."
"Jam?"
"Is it still there? I thought it had been cleared already."
"Hm-hm. Never mind. The director's already looking for you. You should hurry."
"Thanks, Tomas. Have a good day!" he said, rushing toward the lift.
"Have a good day, Andrew!" Tomas replied with a smile.
Ding.