'Why do we seek death… but never want to die?'
The thought came quietly, not as a question meant to be answered, but as something that had always been there, waiting.
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, humming their endless, artificial tune.
Bzzzz...
A man in his early twenties leaned on the counter of a nearly empty convenience store, his chin resting lazily on his hand.
The plastic name tag on his uniform read Ren — though it had faded enough that only the first letter was truly visible.
He exhaled a long, tired breath, watching the automatic doors reflect his weary face.
'Another night of this… huh.'
Behind him, the small refrigerator rattled as its motor kicked to life.
Rrrrrnnn... click.
Ren turned and began his usual routine — not because he cared, but because muscle memory carried him through.
He grabbed the broom from behind the counter and swept through the aisles in slow, half-hearted motions.
Dust collected near the snack shelves; a few crumpled wrappers and bottle caps rolled out from under the racks.
Scrsh… scrsh…
Every so often, the sensor by the door chimed when someone entered, but tonight the only thing that came in was the cold night air.
Ding-dong.
He stacked instant noodle cups, adjusted the rows of canned coffee, and restocked cigarettes.
When his hands paused, his eyes would wander toward the clock above the register. 9:48 p.m.
'Time moves slower here,' he thought, glancing at the empty street beyond the glass doors. 'Like the world forgot this place exists.'
He sat back behind the counter and opened a can of coffee from the discount bin. It was lukewarm, but he drank it anyway.
The bitter taste lingered on his tongue, mixing with the stale scent of cleaning spray.
Gulp. Clink.
Outside, rain began to fall — light at first, then steadily heavier, painting the windows with streaks of water. The neon signs from the nearby streetlights flickered in reflection, washing his tired face in soft reds and blues.
'If only… something would happen,' he thought, staring into the rain. 'Anything.'
The hum of the refrigerator blended with the steady patter outside. It was the sound of a world moving just enough to remind him it hadn't stopped yet.
Ren let out another sigh, leaning back in his chair until it creaked softly.
Creaaak.
'Maybe it'd be better if it all just ended,' he murmured inwardly. 'No more work, no more pretending.'
The rain fell harder. The clock ticked on. The hum never stopped.
Tick… tick… tick.
And for a brief moment, between the silence and the sound, it almost felt like the world was listening.
A sudden, piercing pain tore through Ren's entire body.
—ghk!
His knees buckled before he could even think. It felt as though every nerve had been set on fire, twisting and snapping under invisible pressure. His breath caught in his throat, and then—
Thud.
Everything went dark.
---
When he opened his eyes again, the ceiling was gone. In its place was a pale, endless fog that breathed and drifted like a living thing. The air smelled faintly of iron and rot.
'…What the hell?'
Ren sat up slowly, his head pounding as he tried to gather his thoughts. Cold moisture clung to his uniform. Around him lay bodies—people, or what was left of them.
Torn flesh, shattered bone, and stains of dark red soaking into the earth. Some corpses had deep bite marks, wide enough that a normal animal couldn't have possibly done it.
He swallowed, the sound harsh in the still air.
Gulp.
'No. This… doesn't make sense.' His thoughts ran in quick, cold fragments. 'If this was an attack, there'd be signs of panic. Police, noise, anything. But it's quiet. Too quiet!'
Drip... drip...
A faint sound of liquid falling nearby. He turned his head — a pool of blood slowly seeping from a torso, ribs cracked open like splintered wood.
His stomach twisted. Even his usually detached mind couldn't fully rationalize the scene before him.
'I was just in the store. Then sudden pain... Now this. Either I'm dreaming, or I'm—'
He froze mid-thought. His right arm was throbbing with heat. When he looked down, the skin was crawling — literally knitting itself together.
Flesh and veins reformed beneath the torn fabric, glowing faintly as they healed.
Schlk… schlk…
The sound made his skin crawl.
'Regeneration!?' he thought sharply, analyzing even as fear crept in.
'That's biologically impossible! ...So either I'm hallucinating, or… my body is no longer following human rules. What the heck.'
He pressed a trembling hand against his chest — there was a scar there, wide and rough, running across his ribs like something had ripped straight through him. The pain was dull now, fading with each heartbeat.
'Okay… pain, fog, corpses, self-healing. Logically, I should be dead. But I'm not.' His expression tightened.
'That leaves only two explanations: I've been altered… or this isn't the same world anymore.'
The fog stirred faintly around him. Something distant let out a low, distorted cry.
—Hhhrrrrkkk...
Ren exhaled shakily, his mind racing faster than his pulse.
'This place… it feels alive. Like it's watching.'
He stood, unsteady but focused, scanning the lifeless field. His analytical side warred with unease... the cold, creeping realization that whatever was happening had stripped away everything familiar.
'If this is a dream, it's too detailed,' he thought.
The fog thickened again, swallowing the bodies in pale mist.
Whooosh…
Ren clenched his still-trembling hand, the one that had just regenerated, and took a cautious step forward.
'No point in panicking. Observe first.'
His mind, despite the horror, was already dissecting the scene.
Ren's breathing steadied, though his chest still throbbed with a dull, phantom ache. The fog parted faintly as he pushed himself to his feet.
Rustle…
His legs felt different... It was longer, heavier. His balance was off. For a moment, he had to grip a broken lamp post nearby just to stay upright.
The air was cold against his skin, and his clothes clung to him strangely.
'Wait… this isn't my body.'
The thought hit him sharply, slicing through the confusion. He looked down at his hands — they were larger, paler, with faint scars crossing the knuckles.
His reflection in a shattered glass confirmed it; the face staring back wasn't his own.
A taller man. Younger by a few years, perhaps, with sharper features and grayish streaks in his dark hair. His eyes, faintly luminous under the fog, blinked back in disbelief.
'Transmigration? Into another person?' He frowned. 'No… that's too convenient. But it fits the situation. Death… or near-death… then waking up here, in a different body...'
He stepped carefully over a body lying face-down nearby. The corpse wore a brown vest, a torn white shirt, and trousers tucked into muddy boots.
The material looked coarse, hand-stitched.
Ren crouched down and examined it closely.
'Wool… linen blend. Handmade. No plastic, no rubber soles. Buttons are brass.'
He looked around again.
The architecture... despite being partially collapsed — was strange yet familiar. Brick houses lined the street, their windows framed with iron and glass, oil lamps still flickering faintly among the wreckage. Some roofs had caved in. Others were burning silently under the mist.
Crackle… hiss…
'Victorian era?,' he muttered inwardly.
'But there's… paper scattered around — not parchment. Ink printed, modern typography. Huh. That means at least early industrial period. But these houses...' he glanced at the fractured chimneys and crumbled stone '—too advanced for the mid-1800s. So… somewhere between late 19th and early 20th century, maybe?'
His eyes narrowed as he took another step forward. The cobblestone street was streaked with blood and torn cloth.
The direction of the footprints suggested a panicked crowd.
'They were running from something,' he realized, tracing the pattern with his eyes. 'All in one direction… and then—'
He stopped. The trail ended in claw marks across the stone.
Scrrch…
'Something big,' he thought grimly. 'Big enough to crush bones and still fast enough to chase a group.'
His hand instinctively brushed against his right chest where the scar was. A faint warmth pulsed beneath it, the strange regeneration from earlier still active, faintly humming through his veins.
'So whatever killed this body… it wasn't finished with me. Or maybe… I'm not supposed to be alive at all.'
He straightened, forcing his mind to focus despite the surreal chaos.
'Alright, let's think logically. Unknown world. No people, Victorian-like tech base, massive predator capable of obliterating humans... Where the hell am I!?'
He exhaled slowly, fog curling from his lips.
'First priority is shelter. Second is to observe environment. Third is to confirm if this body has any… anomalies.'
The silence pressed in again, broken only by the distant moan of the wind.
Hoooooo…
Ren glanced toward the far end of the street, a collapsed clocktower rising from the mist, its bell cracked in half. It seemed as good a landmark as any.
'Alright,' he muttered inwardly, taking a step forward through the fog.
'If this really is a new world… then it will be troublesome.'
His footsteps echoed softly against the stone.
Tap… tap… tap…
'I wanna go home,' he thought, his expression steady but his pulse quickening.
And so, through the pale mist and the ruins of a forgotten town, the man who was once Ren began to walk.