December 1st, 2025 — Country X, City X, Street X
1:23 AM
Two cops were chatting at the corner of the empty street,
their voices echoing a little too loudly for a night this cold.
"Hey, did you hear? Those filthy rats from the underworld got wiped out by the CIA."
"For real? Damn, that means our job's gonna get way easier, huh? Hahaha—"
Their laughter cut through the fog like broken glass.
I walked past them like a ghost—
no one to look at, nothing worth noticing.
My hands were buried in the pockets of my worn-out jacket.
Cold air leaked from my mouth in white puffs, dissolving into the thick mist.
Tonight felt the same as every night—
cold, empty, futureless.
The world has never had room for people like me anyway.
A sharp gust of wind whipped across my face as dawn crawled in from the horizon.
I kept walking, no destination in mind, until my feet led me to the pier.
Maybe I just needed air… or somewhere to exist without thinking for a minute.
That's when it happened.
A sheet of paper slammed into my face—
hard enough to sting, like someone had thrown it straight at me.
I grabbed it and looked at the faded ink,
the wind still clawing at my skin.
"Fog's pretty heavy tonight…"
I muttered, glancing at the paper again.
JOB NOTICE: Lighthouse Keeper
Location — Bermuda Triangle Sea
Urgent Position
Free Housing
High Pay
I squinted.
What kind of insane job was this supposed to be?
The wind snapped the edge of the paper like a whip.
Under the printed text, a handwritten message shook across the bottom,
as if the writer's hands had been trembling.
"Pier Pavilion No. 9 — before dawn.
If you're brave enough."
I looked around.
The fog swallowed the pier whole, thick and shapeless.
"…Yeah, great. And where the hell is Pavilion 9 supposed to be?"
I folded the flyer into my pocket
and stepped deeper into the dark,
without realizing that tonight—
wouldn't be like any night I'd lived before.