Step.
Step...
Step…
The silence of the street broke under the sound of slow, uneven footsteps.
It was close to midnight now — the moonlight swallowed by drifting clouds.
Shops were closed.
Windows dark.
The city finally asleep.
"Ughk… it hurts."
The lone figure stumbling through the empty street pressed a hand against his side, each breath sharp and shallow. He staggered once, twice — but kept moving.
After a few more turns, a rundown apartment finally came into view.
Looking up, he stared at it.
Yup, still there — somehow.
The whole building leaned slightly, like it regretted standing. The paint had long since given up, curling off in strips to reveal the gray concrete beneath. Rust bled down from the window frames, and the flickering bulb above the entrance buzzed like an angry insect fighting for its last moments of life.
I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Home sweet home…"
Dragging myself up the narrow stairwell, I gripped the railing for balance.
Each step groaned under my weight, threatening to give way.
Every muscle in my body ached — even the ones I didn't know I had.
Searching through my pockets, I finally pulled out my keys.
Somehow, they'd survived the fight.
Fumbling with the keyhole, I twisted until a satisfying click broke the silence.
With a loud creak, the door swung open, and I stepped inside.
Instantly, the stale smell hit me — a mix of dust, sweat, and something I didn't want to identify.
I looked around.
The place was a dumpster.
Piles of dirty clothes everywhere.
Empty cup noodles scattered across the floor.
The small kitchen looked like it had declared independence weeks ago — pretty sure an entire ecosystem had taken root in there.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "Ugh… I really lived like a pig, huh"
The urge to give my past self a dirty slap was strong — but for obvious reasons, I couldn't.
Ignoring the disaster zone, I groaned and made my way toward the bathroom.
When I pushed the door open, I blinked.
Surprisingly, it was relatively clean.
One eyebrow rose. "Well… that's new."
Shaking my head, I let out a small, tired smile as I stepped inside, peeling off my clothes on the way to the sink.
Tsshhhhh—
The tap hissed to life, water gushing into the basin and echoing softly in the cramped room.
I cupped a handful and splashed it over my face.
The cold sting cutting through the haze clouding my mind.
For a moment, I just breathed, watching the water drip from my chin.
Then, slowly, I looked up.
A cracked mirror stared back — my reflection fractured across its surface.
Staring at the face in the mirror, my eyes stayed still.
Dark hair — uneven, falling in messy bangs.
Cold red irises stared back, almost crimson under the dim light.
My skin looked pale from blood loss, but no scars remained.
The signs of aging… gone.
"…"
A quiet breath slipped past my lips. "Huff…"
I didn't know what to feel — relief? Fear? Confusion?
Maybe all of it. Maybe none.
After a few more seconds, I turned away and headed for the shower.
Later
The bedroom wasn't as bad as I remembered.
"Guess the bed's clean, at least," I muttered under my breath.
Unfortunately, I didn't have any first aid supplies.
So much for patching up.
The pain was dull now — distant, almost comforting in a way.
I could live with it.
Collapsing onto the bed, I glanced at the clock.
12:47 a.m.
The faint hum of the city bled through the thin walls.
I let my gaze wander across the small room one last time before my eyelids grew heavy.
The day's chaos blurred at the edges, fading like smoke.
Tomorrow… I'll figure it out tomorrow.
And with that, I drifted off.
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HERITAGE HOSPITAL (1:24 a.m.)
Muted groans slipped through the curtain of a dimly lit ward.
"Fucking useless!"
Silence. Then—
"FUCK!"
BAM!
The sound of a drawer being slammed echoed through the room.
Edward sat hunched on the bed, seething. His blond hair hung over his face as his shoulders trembled with rage. The scene from earlier replayed in his mind — over and over — mocking him.
Then—
A faint sound. The window slid open with a slow, deliberate creak.
And from the darkness, a cold, almost amused voice:
"I thought you were useful. But after tonight, I can see that you're just… pathetic."
Edward's head snapped up, eyes wide.
"Dona—"
"Finish that word," the figure interrupted, voice dropping to a whisper, "and you won't see the sunrise."
Edward froze.
The figure stepped closer — not a man, but a teenager — his movements precise and unhurried.
"What's his name?"
Edward's lips parted. For a moment, nothing came out — then his voice broke through, low and trembling.
"Maxwell… Maxwell Scott."
The air went still.
Without another word, the figure turned and walked away.
His footsteps echoed once, twice… then faded into silence.
Edward stared at the empty window, his jaw tight.
"Damn it…" he muttered, slamming his fist into the mattress.
Moments Later
A sleek black car purred out of the hospital garage.
Inside, the cabin was silent — shadows and city lights gliding across the tinted glass.
The same teenager sat in the back seat, eyes fixed on the window. The reflection of the city glimmered faintly in his gaze.
Still looking out, he spoke.
"Alfred. I want every piece of information you can find on a person named Maxwell Scott."
A pause. Then a calm, steady voice from the front seat.
"Understood, sir."
The hum of the engine filled the silence once more.
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WEDNESDAY MORNING (5:58 a.m.)
Ziiiiiiiiiinnnngggg—
"Ughhh…"
I groaned, stirring groggily as a sharp static hiss tore through my skull like a blade.
"Ugh—fuc—" I clutched my head, the sound drilling deeper, the pain pounding harder with every pulse.
"Fucking hell—"
Riiiiiiinggggggg!
The alarm clock's shrill cry sliced through the noise. For a moment, both sounds overlapped — then, suddenly, the static stopped.
Silence.
I blinked at the clock.
6:00 a.m.
"…Weird." My voice came out rough. "That hasn't happened before. What the hell's going on?"
Riiiiiing—
I slammed my hand down on the clock, silencing it. "Annoying."
Dragging myself out of bed, I stumbled toward the bathroom, my steps sluggish and uneven.
"Guess the pain's gone down a bit," I muttered, rubbing my side.
The mirror caught my eye as I passed. My reflection — pale, tired, eyes still heavy — watched me back for a second before I looked away and stepped into the shower.
Tsssshhhhhh…
Cold water burst from the showerhead, splashing across my skin and chasing away the last traces of sleep.
I tilted my head back, eyes closed, letting the water run over my face.
"Huff…" I exhaled, steam mingling with my breath.
When I opened my eyes again, droplets rolled down my arms, trailing along faint bruises already fading faster than they should.
I stared down at my body — the cuts, the bruises, the impossible smoothness of healing skin.
"…I don't have much time left," I whispered.
The words feeling heavier this time.