"Ugh…"
I woke up with an abnormally sharp pain in my head, as if someone had beaten me mercilessly with a stick over and over again.
"Ugh… what the hell."
I blinked a couple of times, trying to focus, to adapt to the brightness creeping into my sight. My breathing quickened for no reason, my chest rising and falling heavily as if I had just run a marathon.
"Where…?" I murmured without realizing, my voice raspy and dry, startling me a little.
I sat up in bed and placed my hands on my temples, trying to ease the migraine.
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
The chirping of the birds now felt unbearably irritating. After a few seconds I managed to shake off some of the dizziness and looked around… I found myself in a small, dark, run-down room.
The wooden floor creaked under my weight, the walls were covered in cracks, and in one corner there was a pile of rags that could barely be called clothes. A cold breeze slipped through a broken window, stirring my hair.
"Ah, it's a strange room," I murmured.
I didn't understand how I was here.
What was happening?
The last thing I remembered was…
«The chat flooded with messages, the laughter, the donations… and suddenly, the world turned upside down.»
Confused, I stood to investigate. But before I could grasp the situation, the door burst open with a dry creak that made my skin crawl.
A figure rushed in. It was a girl, around fourteen or fifteen, very thin, with tangled hair falling over her shoulders. Her clothes were torn, old, covered in stains I couldn't identify. Her bare feet struck the wooden floor, and for an instant I thought a board would break beneath her weight.
"Brother, quick, we're going to miss the train!" she exclaimed urgently, her eyes shining with a mix of fear and determination.
Before I could react, she moved toward me and grabbed my hand tightly.
"Huh? W-wait…" I stammered, unable to pull away.
I wanted to ask what was going on, where I was, who she was, and why she was calling me so intimately, but my tongue felt tied. I could barely stand, and yet she pulled me with surprising strength.
The floor groaned again as she dragged me toward the exit, and with every step my confusion grew.
"A train? What the hell is this girl talking about?"
With my body weak and my head still ringing, I had neither the time nor the strength to resist her grip. I let myself be dragged along, stumbling like a ragdoll.
The station wasn't far. We turned a few corners and crossed some alleys, until we finally arrived at a huge building blackened by soot, with smoke towers rising into the sky. The air smelled of hot iron, and the gloomy atmosphere reminded me of the 20th century, similar to the early period of the Great Depression.
There were crowds of people coming and going; men in heavy coats, women carrying baskets, barefoot children running between the throngs. Every face that passed seemed hardened by misery. From time to time, I felt eyes piercing into me—cold, disdainful—as if my mere presence was offensive. Instinctively, I lowered my gaze, uneasy.
I prepared to enter with everyone else, following the flow, when suddenly the girl yanked my arm hard.
"Brother, what are you doing!" she scolded, almost reproachfully.
"Aren't… aren't we supposed to go in?" I replied, bewildered.
She looked at me as if I had just said the dumbest thing in the world. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"Don't be stupid… that car is only for 'citizens.'"
The word hit me.
"Citizens…?" I repeated under my breath, not understanding.
Before I could ask anything else, I felt a hard shove at my side. I stumbled, nearly falling.
"Argh!" I groaned, clutching my ribs.
"What are you doing blocking the way, filthy wipers…" spat a burly man in a leather coat, glaring at us with revulsion.
His gaze was venomous, as if we were garbage.
The girl lowered her head at once and responded quickly, her voice trembling yet polite:
"S-sorry, sir…"
The man snorted, stepping closer. The stench of stale tobacco clung to his coat.
"Sorry, huh? You think that's enough? Scum like you should know your place and crawl back into the sewer you came from."
She tightened her grip on my wrist, trembling, but still bowed slightly in submission.
"We didn't mean to bother you, we just… just made a mistake."
The man let out a harsh laugh, his look of contempt deepening.
My blood boiled as I listened to an adult talk so despicably to a child. I was about to speak up, but her grip on my wrist grew even stronger, silencing me.
"S-sir…" the girl insisted, her voice weaker now, "it won't happen again. It won't."
The man eyed her up and down, clicked his tongue in disgust, and with a grunt, finally moved aside reluctantly.
"Tch… get lost before I change my mind," he said at last.
The girl pulled me away immediately, and I barely had time to glance back. I caught a glimpse of that arrogant man boarding the main car.
As I watched him vanish into the crowd, his unsettling words echoed in my mind:
"Wipers… citizens… those words felt strangely familiar."
For an instant, an absurd thought crossed my mind, but I shook it off as quickly as it came.
"No… impossible, I'm just overthinking," I told myself, pressing my lips together.
Without realizing it, we had gone quite far when I heard the girl let out a sigh of relief.
"That was close… if the officers had shown up, I don't even want to imagine what would've happened…" she murmured, her voice still trembling.
She stopped and looked me straight in the eyes, those pure eyes that unsettled me.
"Brother, you're acting really strange today… are you feeling okay?" she asked with genuine concern.
I felt a strange knot in my chest. The way she called me "brother" didn't sound fake; it didn't feel like some hidden-camera prank or anything like that.
"Of course… I'm fine, fine…" I replied slowly, with some hesitation.
She seemed about to say something else, but a sharp whistle cut her off. The train was about to depart.
"Come on!" she exclaimed, grabbing my hand again.
In front of us stretched the same convoy, but this time we headed toward one of the cars at the back. Its appearance was very different: the peeling paint exposed the damp wood beneath, several windows were cracked or patched with boards, and the metal handrails were corroded with rust. The air there was heavier, thick with soot and grease.
At the door stood an inspector with a stern face, his cap tilted and his gray coat worn. He shot us a fleeting, almost annoyed glance as the girl pulled two crumpled tickets from her pocket and handed them over carefully. The man checked them, clicked his tongue, and without a word raised his hand to let us through.
The interior reeked of damp and coal. The wooden floor shook under our steps, and the benches—long planks that looked hard, without backs—were crammed with entire families, hunched old men, and children wrapped in tattered blankets. There were no compartments, no comforts; only a cramped, noisy, suffocating space.
We walked carefully until we found a free spot: a worn wooden bench, barely enough for two. I sat by the window, making sure not to get splinters from the jutting wood, and the girl sat beside me.
The train whistle blew again, and soon after the car jolted with a harsh rattle as it started moving.
A bitter sensation coursed through my body, as if every vibration struck my bones. I tried to distract myself by looking outside, hoping to clear my mind and shake off the weight pressing on my chest. But when I raised my eyes, I froze, stunned by the figure reflected in the glass.
The silhouette in the window had the same face, but it wasn't mine: a gaunt young man, with pale skin and dull blue eyes. His hair, silver and ragged, fell in messy strands over a thin, neglected face… strange, and yet unmistakable.
It was the same character I had created.
A chill ran down my spine. What the hell…?
For an instant, the absurd thought that had crossed my mind earlier struck me hard: had I fallen into the game? Was this Epidemic World?
.
.
.
___________
Wipers → are the lower class, marginalised, those who live in poor neighbourhoods, almost seen as trash by society.
Citizens → are the recognised class, with rights and status. They represent the "visible and accepted" part of society, as opposed to the Wipers.
__________