Copyright Notice: This story is an original work by Muntasib_Ihshan789. All rights reserved. Do not copy or redistribute without permission.
The underground basement did not go quiet after Utaro left. That was the first thing Shinichi noticed.
Silence should have followed. Some heavy, final silence. The kind that comes after storms or funerals. Instead, the underground space kept breathing. Pipes ticked somewhere inside the walls. A loose wire buzzed faintly.
Shinichi was still just sitting there, trying to comprehend what just happened in front of his eyes. Alas, he failed to do so and his mind instead was trying it's best to reject the truth. But it was all there. Then the smell hit him properly. Iron. Gunpowder. Burnt flesh. The aftermath of gunfires.
His stomach turned violently. He started to move his tied up wrists with the attempt to get free. A little struggle and the rope dropped.
"Those…those youtube videos I used to watch. It really paid off!" Shinichi said.
Quickly he removed the cloth cover from his mouth but the next he was on his knees, hands scraping against the concrete as he threw up.
Nothing much came out. His body had already been empty as he was tied there for many hours without eating anything. Still, he kept retching. It didn't stop like his body believed that if it tried hard enough, it could throw up the horrible memory too.
When he finally stopped, he stayed there, hunched over, breathing in sharp, shallow pulls.
"This is… nothing," he muttered to himself.
"This happens all the time," he went on, louder, giving himself some kind of console."Just underworld stuff. Gangs killing gangs. Very normal, yes. No need to fret."
His hands were shaking. He noticed it only because they wouldn't stop.
Shinichi clenched them into fists and forced himself to stand. He felt his leg very week. The drug was still inside him. He could feel it, that sluggish haze dragging at his thoughts, trying to make everything soft and distant. But adrenaline was ripping through him now, giving him the boost to escape.
He saw the door of the room was still empty. Without wasting a single moment, he ran to the door and not looking at the corpses around. He got out of the room only to find out two options. Left or right. Not giving a second thought, he chose right. He started running faster in a sluggish posture as if he would fall anytime.
The entire passage was made of concrete and zero paint. Clearly showing it was not planned as a sustainable hideout.
The passages of the basement looked like maze more than shelter.Corridors split into narrow paths, some sloping down, others curving sharply. He ran past doors he didn't open. Past rooms he refused to look into.
Once, he turned a corner too fast and slammed into a wall, the impact knocking the breath out of him. Blood was dripping from his forehead but he believed he had no time to notice. His mind was only screaming one word,
"Exit! Exit! Exit!"
He just moved nonstop. At one point, he heard a sound behind him. A scrape. Maybe a footstep. Maybe just metal contracting in the cold. He didn't check. There was also the possibility of him hallucinating due to drug effects.
His head spun. The floor tilted. For a terrifying second, he thought he might pass out right there. He slowed, braced himself against the wall, and sucked in air until the dizziness faded enough for him to move again.
"Don't stop," he whispered to himself. "Don't stop."
Suddenly his mind unconsciously replayed the images of what had happened in that room. Those bloodshot, even thinking about it made him gag again, barely managing to turn his head before vomiting onto the floor.
When it passed, he laughed once. A short, broken sound that startled even him.
"Enough," he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Enough of this."
Finally, he saw a staircase.
It rose at an awkward angle, concrete stairs leading upward and small light could be seen coming from the exit.
Shinichi climbed without thinking. Each step felt unreal, like he was ascending out of a grave. When he reached the top and pushed the door open, cold night air of Tokyo hit his face.
It was night time and no vehicles could be seen in that road. Apart from further car horns, the place was quite empty. He started walking down the streets, passing street lines one by one.
After taking a turn, he ended up on a main city road, filled with crowds. People walked by on the main road, laughing, arguing, staring at their phones. None of them looked at him.
Shinichi stood there, breathing hard, his clothes stained and feeling like he had crawled out of another world entirely. The contrast made his knees weak. Underground, people had slaughtered each other over money. Up here, someone complained about missing the last train.
"I'm done." he thought, "Done with drugs. Done with gangs."
He didn't care anymore about the consequences. About threats. About what would happen next.
"I am really done running, suffering. If I stay silent, I will rot from inside!"
He pulled his jacket tighter around himself to hide the little blood splash marks he had on his shirt and started walking. It took him longer than it should have to find a police station. His sense of direction was still off, his thoughts lagging, but eventually he saw it. The familiar blue sign.
He stopped in front of it. For a moment, he didn't move.
In the reflection of the glass, he barely recognized himself. His eyes were red and unfocused. His face looked pale and thinner. There was still a faint chemical smell coming from his mouth and his clothes were mixed with something metallic. Mainly due to the gunpowder.
"Would they believe me? My story is bizarre" he thought.
His hand hovered inches from the door.
Behind him, Tokyo kept moving. After everything he had seen, the idea of simply walking inside and saying the truth felt absurdly heavy. But he was still standing. And that, somehow, was enough.
Dead Logic © 2025 by Muntasib_Ihshan789 is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International