The first thing Evan felt was cold.
Not the kind of cold that creeps in slowly or settles gently like winter air—
no, this was the choking, metallic cold of a morgue slab.
A cold that made his skin sting.
A cold that made his fingers numb and foreign.
His eyes snapped open.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The air was thick, damp, and carried the faint scent of bleach mixed with something else—something iron-sweet and wrong.
He forced a breath into his lungs, but it tasted like dust and rot.
Where am I?
The question throbbed through his skull, but no answer followed.
Then a sudden, sharp ache stabbed behind his eyes.
A flash.
A scream.
A blurry silhouette leaning over him.
Then nothing.
He pushed his palms against the floor, expecting tile or wood—
but his hand slid through something wet.
His breath hitched.
He lifted his fingers.
In the little light leaking from the half-open blinds, he saw it:
dark, congealed streaks running between each finger.
Blood.
Not dripping, not fresh—dried around the edges, sticky in the center, clinging to his skin like it belonged there.
He jerked backward with a gasp, but his back slammed into something hard—
a kitchen cabinet, judging by the metallic clang.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
"Okay… okay… calm down…"
But his own voice sounded strange—raspy, dry, as if he hadn't spoken in days.
Another breath.
Another attempt to gather his bearings.
His vision slowly adjusted.
The room was a dim apartment kitchen—lights off, blinds drawn, only a slice of moonlight cutting across the floor. Dust drifted through the air like falling ash.
And on the floor, right in front of him—
lay a man.
Face down.
Arms splayed unnaturally.
Head turned sideways at an angle no living neck could withstand.
Evan stared, unable to blink.
He didn't recognize the man.
Didn't know why he was here.
Didn't know if he had killed him.
His breath turned shallow.
He crawled closer—every instinct screaming at him to run the opposite direction.
The man's hair was matted with blood.
A deep indentation split the back of his skull—like he'd been struck with something heavy. The sight made Evan's stomach twist hard.
He checked his own hands again.
Blood.
But not the right amount.
Not enough for this kind of head wound.
Then whose blood is this?
His chest tightened.
That's when he noticed it—
a shape lying just inches from the dead man's fingers.
A phone.
Cracked screen.
Still on.
The glow was faint, flickering almost desperately.
Evan reached for it with trembling hands. When his thumb touched the screen, it vibrated once—unlocking instantly at his touch.
Fingerprints.
It was his phone.
Even though he'd never seen it before in his life.
A single message was open on the screen, as if waiting for him.
[LEAVE NOW.
YOU HAVE 3 MINUTES.]
His blood froze.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
Slow.
Heavy.
Pairs.
Not just one person—multiple.
Evan's muscles locked.
His mind screamed to move, but his legs wouldn't obey.
Someone outside twisted the doorknob.
Click.
Click.
CLICK.
The handle rattled violently.
His heart slammed against his ribs so hard it felt like it might break.
He scrambled to his feet, nearly slipping on the slick blood under his shoes. Panic clawed up his throat, making his breath wheeze.
He scanned the kitchen—
one counter, a sink, metal cabinets, broken glass on the floor.
No weapon.
No exit.
Only the front door… which was about to be forced open.
The rattling grew louder.
More impatient.
More aggressive.
Think, think, THINK!
He darted toward the living room, stumbling over a fallen chair. His shoulder crashed into the wall. Pain shot down his arm but forced him back into focus.
Three windows.
Two locked.
One cracked open by half an inch.
He lunged for it.
Behind him—
BOOM.
The door slammed open.
Boots thundered into the apartment.
Evan shoved the window upward.
It screeched loudly—too loud.
He winced.
In the reflection of the windowpane, he saw shadows enter the room behind him.
Tall.
Broad.
Gloved hands.
No hesitation.
No talking.
He lifted the window just enough to squeeze through.
A cold gust rushed against his face.
He climbed onto the ledge—
"HEY!"
A deep voice barked.
Evan flinched, almost losing balance.
He didn't dare turn around.
A gun clicked behind him.
"DON'T MOVE!"
He moved.
He launched himself through the window.
Glass scraped his jacket as he tumbled out into the night air.
Wind roared past his ears.
The world spun.
He crashed onto a fire escape one floor below—metal rattling so loud the entire building seemed to shake.
Pain shot up his spine. His vision blurred.
Boots were already rushing toward the window above him.
He crawled to his hands and knees, gripping the rusty railing.
Every breath came with a stabbing ache in his ribs.
A figure climbed out of the window above—
a masked man dressed entirely in black, no insignia, no sound except the metal of his boots.
Evan stumbled down the fire escape stairs.
The man followed—calm, deliberate steps, no rush.
Like a hunter herding prey.
Evan's foot slipped on the last step.
He hit the landing hard.
Another masked man appeared below.
He was trapped.
Adrenaline surged through every nerve.
His brain screamed for an exit.
The alley to his right.
He sprinted.
The two masked men closed in.
He reached the alley's end—
a locked metal gate.
"No, no, no—PLEASE—!"
He shook it.
Kicked it.
Pulled.
It didn't move.
Behind him, one of the men cocked a gun.
He turned around slowly.
The first masked figure advanced, silent as a shadow.
The moonlight caught the edge of a long, thin blade in his hand.
"Who are you?!" Evan blurted out, his voice cracking.
"What do you want?!"
No answer.
The man stepped closer.
Evan's back hit the gate.
His heartbeat rang in his ears like a scream.
"I didn't do anything—!"
His voice shook violently.
"I don't even know where I am!"
Still no response.
The blade was raised.
He squeezed his eyes shut—
A sudden BLINDING light flooded the alley.
A car screeched to a halt.
Its high beams blazed like white fire.
Both masked men shielded their eyes.
A door slammed.
A figure rushed out of the car and shouted:
"Evan!
GET IN!
NOW!"
The voice—
a woman's.
Familiar.
Terrified.
His knees went weak.
"WHO ARE YOU?!" he yelled.
"No time—MOVE!"
The masked man lunged forward.
Evan had no choice.
He ran.
He threw himself into the car just as bullets shattered the brick wall beside him. The woman slammed the door shut and floored the accelerator.
The tires screamed.
The car fishtailed out of the alley at full speed.
Evan clung to the seat, chest heaving, mind blank with pure terror.
He turned to the woman driving—
a stranger with messy dark hair, sweat on her forehead, hands shaking violently on the wheel.
Her eyes were wild.
As if she'd seen a ghost.
"Who are you?" Evan asked, voice barely able to form words.
She didn't look at him.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
She whispered, "You're supposed to be dead."
The car spun around a corner, almost tipping.
Evan stared at her, throat closing.
She finally met his eyes.
"I don't know how you're sitting in my car right now…"
Her voice trembled.
"…because I saw you die."
Silence.
Cold.
Complete.
Evan felt the world tilt.
Felt his stomach flip.
Felt something inside him tear open.
"I… what?" he whispered.
She swallowed hard.
"I saw you die," she said again, tears forming.
"And the worst part is—"
She looked back at him with a horrified expression.
"—I don't know which version of you this is."
A chill crawled across Evan's spine.
"What do you mean… 'version'?"
She slammed the brakes.
The car skidded to a stop in the middle of an empty bridge, steam rising from the hood.
She turned fully to face him.
"Evan…"
Her voice cracked.
"There are two of you."
A loud clank echoed above them.
Evan jerked his head up in time to see—
A figure standing on top of the bridge arch.
Tall.
Silent.
Unmoving.
And when the moonlight hit his face—
Evan felt his soul leave his body.
Because the man standing up there…
the man looking down at him…
was him.
Same face.
Same posture.
Same eyes.
But colder.
Sharper.
Empty.
The woman beside him whispered:
"That's the one who should've survived."
The masked figure raised one hand.
Pointed directly at Evan.
And mouthed silently:
"You're not me."
Evan's scream caught in his throat.
The other him stepped off the ledge—
Falling straight toward the car.
The woman grabbed Evan's arm.
"RUN!"
But he couldn't move.
His legs refused to respond.
The falling version of him came closer—
closer—
closer—
The last thing Evan saw was the reflection of his own horrified face in the windshield—
before everything exploded into darkness.