Red felt a hollow ache deep in his chest — not sharp, not sudden, but the kind that had been there for years, quietly eating away.
He blinked—
and the dark void around him peeled back.
Light poured down. Not golden, not warm. Heavy.
It fell in threads and beads, like rain made of glass.
Every drop shimmered — a memory.
Some sweet. Some rotten.
Most were the kind you wish you could carve out of your skull and burn.
One drop struck the ground.
The world shifted.
He stood in a narrow hallway washed in a dull, gray light.
He knew this place. Too damn well.
One of the orphanages.
From the shadows, he watched the scene unfold.
He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't interfere.
Only watch.
In the center of the room, his younger self stood — smaller, thinner, crimson eyes dulled by exhaustion.
Two caretakers loomed over him, voices rising and colliding like knives. He couldn't make out all the words, only the tone: sharp, accusing, relentless.
The boy's lips trembled as if he wanted to speak but knew better.
His eyes darted toward the corner — toward Red's hidden vantage point — as though he could somehow feel the older version watching.
"Hey… what did we do wrong?" the boy murmured into the empty air. "We just… followed their orders."
Red stayed silent in the dark. His jaw clenched.
Another bead of light fell.
The hallway dissolved.
A birthday party replaced it — the kind you could smell before you saw.
Cheap perfume clung to the air.
A cake sagged under the weight of uneven frosting. Fifteen candles burned low, dripping wax onto the tablecloth.
Three kids laughed, shoving each other playfully, oblivious to the tension hanging over the adults.
The birthday boy — the one the candles were meant for — wasn't there.
Because he was already gone.
So that's how they reacted when I ran.
No search. No panic. Just cake, candles, and the same stale air.
The only thing they sent after him… was a dog.
The scene rippled again, and the smell of sugar rotted into cold night air.
Streetlights hummed above a quiet small-town road.
Fifteen-year-old Red tore down the sidewalk, lungs on fire, shoulder burning where the dog's teeth had sunk in. Blood soaked through his shirt, sticky against his skin.
God… I remember that bite. Thought my arm was gonna come off.
He vaulted over a fence, sneakers scraping wood, but the damn animal kept coming — claws scrabbling, growls echoing. He didn't look back.
His sprint carried him around a corner — straight into a young couple. Early twenties.
"Hey—hey! You're hurt!" the man said, stepping forward.
"Sweetheart, he's bleeding bad! We need to—"
And then… they broke.
Skin cracked like dry earth.
Eyes sank and burned red.
Mouths split open far too wide, revealing jagged, wet teeth.
The two bodies twisted, tangled, melted into each other until something foul and wrong stood where they had been — a single mass of flesh, bone, and horn.
Even from the shadows of memory, older Red felt the chill run through him.
Yeah… I thought that was it. Thought I was gonna die right there. Didn't know then that the real punishment wasn't the dog. It was what came after.
The younger Red froze.
Tears streaked down his cheeks in silence. His body shook, but his legs wouldn't move.
A blur cut across the alley — human-shaped, fast.
A figure in a blue suit and mask grabbed the boy, pulling him into a side street just as the devil-thing lurched forward.
"Kid, you okay?" the masked man asked quickly. "That bite—was it from that thing?"
The boy's voice cracked. "No… dog."
"Where's your parents?" the man pressed. His gaze swept over the ragged shirt, the blood-stained fabric, the hollowed eyes. He already knew.
"…Orphanage," the boy whispered.
The Cleaner nodded once, a faint smile hidden under the mask.
"It's your choice now. You come with us — we'll give you a home, training, a job. The world will forget you. Or…" He shrugged. "You go back. Live like the rest of them. Grow up, go to school, become a lawyer, whatever you want."
Older Red leaned in the darkness, watching the boy's answer as if he didn't already know it.
The boy nodded. The choice was made.
And the rain of memories kept falling.
Three years since that night, Red thought. Three years of cleaning blood off my hands. And now… now I wonder if I made the wrong choice.