It is said that running is the only instinct humans cannot abandon.
We run to survive, we run from our sins, we run to save those we love—or to flee from ourselves. We may not know why we run… all we know is that if we stop, we will face what we fear.
But this time, both were running to create the ending. To their left stood a building with the words "Building 109" etched on its facade. They passed it in silence, heading toward the western road. Their eyes scanned the pedestrians around them, breaths ragged, sweat glistening on their foreheads despite the cold. They ran so fast that the chaos around them became a mere stillness. Seeing them, one could not tell who was the prey and who was the hunter—there is no difference between the two when it comes time to run.
The neon lights wrapping Shibuya made that night as bright as a poisoned day, while above, the full moon silently watched. The thud of leather shoes against the wet pavement mixed with the shouts of passersby and the brushing of shoulders. One of them stumbled, but rose carelessly and surged forward, as if part of the rhythm. The other officer gripped his phone, listening to instructions from the man on the other end:
"You're just tens of meters away. The rest of the units will cordon the area. This time, there's no escape."
They stopped at Asakusa intersection, catching their breath. It wasn't common for the area to be crowded or dark, but a small music festival was taking place at the edge of the street—a truck stage illuminated by all the lights, blending the crowd's voices with blaring pop music from the speakers.
A voice trembled through the phone: "We've lost the signal, sir…"
"Where was the last point? Hurry!"
"We're narrowing the search… just give me a few seconds."
Their eyes continued scanning desperately, each hand hovering over their gun until…
Suddenly, silence fell. The speakers went dead as if cut off, and somehow, the place became quieter. A festival staff member jumped to check the wiring. Moments passed, then the music resumed—but it wasn't the same. A strange tone echoed through the crowd, who assumed it was part of the show.
But it drew the officers' attention. Both stood tense, staring and listening, fear etched on their faces. They were the only ones who knew exactly what that tone meant. One froze completely, eyes locking onto a face of despair, while the other raised his phone and shouted:
"Send me that damn location, now!"
A high-pitched female scream pierced the air, followed by others. Everyone's gaze turned to the building across the intersection, where a girl pointed with a trembling hand.
There…
From a third-floor window dangled a rope, and at its end, a body. A black jacket with blue police trousers. Hair fell over the face, yet the identity was unmistakable. Clothes soaked in blood, like the remnants of a prey. Blood dripped rhythmically from every limb down to the shoes, perfectly matching the haunting melody still playing in the background.
The phone fell from one officer's hand. The other dropped to his knees, both staring at the same scene.
After that night, it could be said that stopping running was no longer the only way to confront what we fear…
Sometimes, what we fear is already waiting at the end of the road.