The rain tapped against the window, the pattering white noise bringing a sense of peace within. On the white yacht, a young man opened his eyes in the cabin, his gaze vacant and unfocused, silently staring at the cabin ceiling, not yet having recovered from his sleep.
Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going?
The three most crucial questions emerged in his mind, but he found no answers among them. Now, the only thing he could confirm was that he was not dead and that his body was relatively healthy.
The young man sat up, looking around. He was lying on the sofa in the cabin, beneath which were piled dozens of liquor bottles. Directly in front was the cockpit, visible through the window on the door, though it was currently unmanned, yet the yacht continued to move, seemingly in autopilot mode.
