It all started that day.
I was walking alone, the city's neon lights pulsing like a migraine. Rain hammered down, relentless, the trees swaying so hard their branches nearly kissed the pavement. I ducked into a gas station market, slapped some cash on the counter for a pack of cigarettes, and got out. I fumbled with my lighter, trying to spark a cigarette, but the rain smothered it.
"Damn thing," I muttered, shoving it back in my pocket.
The streets were alive despite the storm. People moved fast, heads down, umbrellas up, trench coats pulled tight, the kind of city pace that didn't break for weather or wounds. Some huddled under awnings waiting for buses, phones glowing in their hands like tiny lighthouses.
I kept walking, the bus stop's faint glow the only thing cutting through the downpour, like a curtain sealing off the world. That's when I saw her. Maybe ten steps more and I'd have reached the stop, but I froze. To my left, in a dark alley, there she was, a woman, hurt. Short pink hair, a dress that screamed runway model, clinging to her like it was painted on. Her back was to me, one hand clutching her waist, blood seeping through her fingers.
"Are you… okay?" I called out, voice half-lost in the rain.
"N-no… please…"
Ah.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
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That morning, I woke up at seven—or rather, I was already awake, sucking on a cigarette, the clock just catching up. I didn't have hobbies, nothing to my name but the slow drag of smoke.
Pathetic way to live, wow. Was I even real?
I sat by the window, staring at the city's gray blur, my cat Snuggles sprawled on my lap, purring as I rubbed her belly. My room was a wreck—clothes tossed over a chair, a chipped coffee mug on the desk, books and papers scattered like a tornado hit.
"Damn… already seven, huh?" I muttered, lifting Snuggles gently and setting her on the bed, where she curled into a ball.
I stood, stretching until my spine popped, and dropped my phone onto the cluttered table. First day of uni, and I hadn't slept a wink. Not nerves, not excitement—just fucking insomnia.
I shuffled to the bathroom, a tiny box with cracked tiles and a sink buried under toothpaste tubes and stray hairs. The mirror was smudged, reflecting my bloodshot eyes.
I splashed cold water on my face, the shock doing nothing to clear the haze in my head. I brushed my teeth, the minty paste sharp but useless against my exhaustion. Grabbing a towel—damp, probably from yesterday—I wiped my face and tossed it on the counter.
Back in my room, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through social media, my thumb flicking lazily through posts as I wandered toward the kitchen. Snuggles trailed behind, her soft paws padding on the floor. The kitchen was tiny—barely a corner of my 1+1 apartment, squeezed next to the living room. A small counter, a single sink with a dripping faucet, and a couple of shelves crammed with mismatched dishes. The fridge hummed too loudly for such a small space, and the whole setup felt like it was closing in on me.
I opened the fridge, grabbed a carton of milk, then reached for a box of cereal on the shelf. I poured myself a bowl, the flakes clattering against the chipped ceramic. Sitting at the counter, I started eating, my eyes glued to my phone as I scrolled through more posts. Snuggles rubbed against my foot, her fur tickling my ankle.
"Go away, you damn idiot," I muttered, nudging her gently. "I bought you that automatic feeder. It cost my whole savings."
I swear, she was eating better than me. Even her food was pricier than mine.
Since I had no idea where the remote control was, I used my phone to turn on the small TV mounted on the kitchen wall. I was honestly surprised it had a feature like that. The thing was second-hand, covered in scratches—some from Snuggles, that idiot cat.
"…The National Weather Service has issued a severe weather advisory due to anomalous atmospheric readings," the news anchor said, her tone crisp. "Meteorologists have confirmed heavy rainfall expected today, though the exact timing remains uncertain. Residents are advised to remain indoors and avoid unnecessary travel."
My phone buzzed with a notification. I unlocked it, revealing an email from the university: Classes canceled today due to inclement weather. Updates to follow.
"Damn… first day of uni, and it's already gone to shit," I muttered, slumping back. "Ugh."
Just as I swiped the notification away, a call came through. Kadon, my boss. I despised the guy—slimy, obnoxious, just… Kadon. But he paid on time, so I couldn't complain too much.
"Hello?" I answered, putting it on speaker.
"Hey, Aiden," he said, voice grating as ever. "Come to work early today. Heard school's out."
"Uh-huh," I replied. "I'll do that."
"Okay. Bye."
"Yep."
The call ended. With half-lidded eyes, I pressed my forehead to the table and exhaled, the spoon still dangling in my hand. I was exhausted—tired of everything. I'd hoped for a break from work, but this damn weather had screwed me over. Of course.
Snuggles' automatic feeder whirred, dispensing her food into the bowl. She meowed loudly, darting over to chow down.
I turned my head, watching her. "Huh… at least someone's happy."
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I hauled the last box from the delivery truck's trunk, my arms burning from the effort. A man approached from the truck, clipboard in hand, and shoved a paper at me. "Signature, please."
I scribbled my name, then turned to count the boxes stacked nearby. Forty-five, exactly as expected. I nodded, confirming the delivery. Working at the shopping mall's clothing store warehouse wasn't glamorous—scanning incoming shipments from brands, logging them into the system, and moving boxes around all day. But it paid the bills.
The man grabbed the signed paper, hopped back into the truck, and the rear door slid shut automatically. He waved from the driver's seat and drove off, tires crunching on the pavement.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the clear morning air. Nine o'clock, and the sun was already blazing, the weather was just… okay? No rain. No nothing. I closed the warehouse's back door and stepped inside.
Inside was massive, a dusty cavern of towering shelves crammed with boxes. The air smelled of cardboard and stale sweat, and a thin layer of grime coated everything, no matter how often we swept. Rows of boxes stretched into the dim corners, some labeled neatly, others scrawled with faded marker.
"Okay," I muttered, pulling my device from my pocket. "Work, work, work."
I grabbed a box cutter from a nearby shelf and sliced open the first box. With my device in hand, I started scanning the clothes one by one, logging each item into the system with a quick beep. T-shirts, jeans, dresses—each one registered with a flick of my wrist.
The warehouse door creaked open, and Kadon waddled in. Bald head gleaming under the fluorescents, gut straining against his shirt, hands slick with that greasy sheen he never seemed to wash off. Word around the mall was he'd been caught snapping upskirt photos once, but some higher-up pulled strings, and the charges vanished. Typical.
"How many today?" he asked, his voice like gravel.
"Forty-five," I said, not looking up. "Thirty-two men's, rest women's."
"Okay." He nodded. "Scan 'em and come see me after."
"Why, what happened?"
"Just come see me when you're done."
"Hmm."