I don't know when the world stopped making sense.
At some point, the lines blurred — between what was solid and what was memory, between what existed and what I just needed to believe did. Streets felt like ideas. People felt like echoes. Even my own thoughts slipped through my fingers if I held them too tightly.
I'd stopped asking what was real.
Because every time I did, reality answered by changing.
Something behind me shifted. Not sound — pressure. Like the space itself had decided I was in the way.
I turned.
The city was coming apart.
Buildings lost their edges first, corners smearing into pale static. The street beneath my feet thinned, turning translucent, as if it couldn't decide whether it still wanted to support me. The sky peeled back in layers, revealing nothing underneath but blank, waiting light.
And standing calmly in the middle of it all—
him.
The man in the suit.
He didn't rush. Didn't reach for me. He didn't need to. The world was already doing the work for him, folding itself inward like a page being erased.
He stepped closer.
No footsteps.
No breath.
Just inevitability.
Up close, his faceless head wasn't empty — it was unfinished. Smooth porcelain stretched over something that kept trying to form expressions and failing, like humanity was a language he almost remembered.
He leaned in.
A pressure slid into my skull. Memories loosened. Names fell apart. I felt pieces of myself lift away like dust in slow motion, drifting upward and disappearing before I could grab them.
I tried to speak.
The thought never reached my mouth.
He raised his hand.
One long finger pressed against my forehead.
Reality collapsed.
The world folded inward — sound snapping shut, light compressing into a single screaming point — and then everything broke open.
I hit the ground.
Cold grass.
Rough wind.
I gasped, dragging air back into lungs that forgot how to breathe.
When I opened my eyes, the sky above me was fractured — darkness split by glowing cracks, as if night itself had shattered and never been repaired. **Spirits** drifted through the air, half-formed silhouettes made of fog and unfinished memories. Faces blurred. Limbs faded into nothing.
They passed around me without touching.
Not ignoring me.
Avoiding me.
In the distance, an upside-down city hung suspended, buildings dangling downward like roots searching for something to grow in.
Then the voice arrived.
Not heard.
Not spoken.
Inserted.
*If you want your world back…*
The spirits froze mid-motion.
*…kill the one in the suit.*
The ground split open at my feet, clean and silent. A black case rose from the opening and unfolded as if it had always been waiting for me.
Inside rested a **black suit**, perfectly pressed.
Beside it lay a **katana**.
The blade didn't reflect light.
It swallowed it.
My hand moved before I could stop it.
The suit warmed instantly, like it recognized me. The katana hummed deep in my bones, syncing with my heartbeat until I couldn't tell where it ended and I began.
The spirits circled tighter, silent mouths open, eyes fixed on me.
The voice whispered again — closer now.
*Become what he is.*
The sky cracked wider.
The ground tilted.
And standing there, between a world that erased me and one that demanded I survive it,
I finally understood the true meaning of being alone—
not ignored,
not unseen,
but left behind…
to fend for myself.