I feel cold. So cold.
Why?
Why why why why—
Why?
Zzhzm. Zzhmp.
A sound—familiar, nostalgic… dreaded.
The damned alarm.
Even now? Even at the end of the world?
"Damnation. Even when the world's gone to hell, I still have to wake up early. So unfair," I whimpered to no one in particular, my voice raw and hoarse. As if anyone would answer. As if anyone was even left.
I was alone.
All alone.
No voices.
No companionship.
Just me.
Just me, like always. Before everything ended. And even more so now.
"Especially with those bastards still around."
I shifted beneath the heavy weight of my blanket, the fabric stiff with dried sweat and time. With a slow groan, I pushed the velvet curtain aside and sat up, blinking blearily toward the world outside my bedroom window.
It looked like something out of a horror game—or maybe one of those gritty post-apocalyptic manhwa I'd binge late into the night. The streets were a graveyard. Scorched cars lay crumpled and overturned, some still smoldering. Human remains—half-consumed, gnawed down to bone and sinew—decorated the sidewalks like grotesque confetti. Blood painted the asphalt. The skyline was black with smoke.
Chaos.
I sighed. The kind of sigh that felt like it came from deep in my bones. Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, I stood and began my morning routine, that same pointless ritual that gave the illusion of control.
Make the bed.
Brush the teeth—conserving water, of course.
Wash only the vital parts.
Take inventory.
Count the rations.
Then, finally, eat.
I walked into the dining room. Once, it had been painfully normal. A modern space with dull off-white walls, grey marble countertops, and a modest wooden table pushed up against a window that no longer showed anything but smoke. The chairs were still in place, though one had a broken leg and leaned at an odd angle. Empty mugs sat on the counter, untouched for weeks, maybe months. I hadn't bothered to wash them. No one to impress.
I sat down with a stale protein bar and clicked open YouTube on my cracked tablet, propped up by an empty can of beans. The screen flickered, struggling to stay alive. I wasn't watching news or escape routes, no live updates or desperate SOS messages from other survivors. Instead, I was finally watching an old video I'd bookmarked ages ago.
"A beginner's guide to the Gu System," the title read.
Reverend Insanity. I'd always meant to start it.
What better time than the end of days?
The video droned on, explaining cultivation path and many gu's strength gu wolfenslavement gu etc, but a sharp tone sliced through it midway:
[The containment around Greater London has been secured. Any and all survivors, please attempt to reach one of the outer gates. Stay safe.]
The announcement cut the video off with brutal efficiency. I didn't even flinch.
I didn't care.
Ss… ss… ss… mm…
Murmurs, soft and shapeless, echoed faintly in the corners of the room.
Of course they did.
What would you expect, after this much solitude?
And well... schizophrenia does run in my family.
But still—
Why does it feel like I'm missing something?
"Why do I feel so cramped?" I muttered aloud, stretching my arms out. The joints popped in protest, muscles tight like coiled wire. It felt like I'd been locked in a box too small to breathe in—confined for days, maybe longer. Every bone ached. Every nerve screamed dull pain. My body felt… wrong.
Unnatural.
Like I'd only just woken up after years of being folded inside myself.
And yet—I couldn't shake the feeling.
The feeling that something was terribly, terribly off.