Nullus returned to his apartment after a long day of delivering letters. His breathing was steady, his movements routine—nothing hinted that the darkness waiting behind the door would swallow him whole. He sighed tiredly as he turned the key in the lock, then closed the door behind him—but instead of finding himself inside his apartment, he was standing in a strange corridor.
There was no warning. No sound. No movement. Only that heavy sensation creeping onto his skin, as if the air itself was shrinking around him.
The corridor's walls stretched endlessly into thick darkness. The sticky void pressed against his being, his breaths louder than they should be, his pulse quickening for no apparent reason. Then—
A step.
The sound echoed in the void, deep, as if the darkness itself was breathing beside him. He tried to turn around, but his neck remained stiff, nailed between confusion and fear.
Then—everything disappeared.
No corridor. No walls. Not even the sensation of his feet against the ground. Only silent emptiness.
Then—a single clap.
A dim light flared, fragile, as if it had emerged from the ribs of nothingness itself. The room formed out of the void; faded wooden walls carrying the scent of the past, an old bed, a lone chair, and an aura of stillness that swallowed any attempt to impose reality onto this space.
And in the midst of this heavy silence, the shadows took shape, forming a man.
He wasn't just a person standing there—he was an extension of the darkness itself. A black cloak draped from his body as if devouring him, his face half-hidden beneath the shadow of his hat. His voice seeped into Nullus's ears slowly, savoring each word before releasing it.
"At last... we meet."
"Why didn't you report me?"
The man's words echoed inside Nullus's mind, bouncing against the walls of his memory in search of an answer that didn't exist. He stared at him with vacant eyes and asked, his voice devoid of emotion:
"What do you mean?"
The man leaned forward slightly, as if gathering the fragments of his dark thoughts, then spoke in a tone laced with hidden excitement:
"You know... I am the one they named the serial killer. I satisfy the void gnawing at me by killing the innocent. Do you know why you didn't report me? Because you're like me... aren't you?"
Nullus's breath halted for a moment. The words echoed in his ear as if searching for resonance within him. He closed his eyes briefly before speaking in a steady voice, activating his conceptual vision:
"You're the same person I saw a few days ago, hanging someone."
The man smiled, then moved his hand, lowering part of his cloak, revealing a pale face with blond hair, centered by empty black eyes. His voice dripped with pleasure as he said:
"Yes, I am the killer… How I love the sound of that word… Killer."
He savored the word, as if it were the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Then, spreading his arms as if embracing this enigmatic space, he added:
"This space obeys all my commands, so don't think of escaping. Now, answer my question."
"What do you want from me?"
Nullus sat on the ground, resting his back against what seemed like a wall, then looked at the man with empty eyes before saying:
"As for your question, I don't know what you mean… And what do you want from me?"
The mysterious man's eyes narrowed, as if evaluating something, then he spoke in a quiet voice, heavy with meaning:
"If you were what I thought, you wouldn't be asking me that. It seems you're not what I believed… Just an ordinary person. But still, let me ask: Are you a creator?"
Nullus raised an eyebrow slightly and replied with indifference:
"A creator?"
The man chuckled softly, then continued:
"Yes. A killer, a creator… There's no difference between them. Both reshape reality in their own way. The word 'killer' was only invented by those who fail to understand the beauty in chaos."
Nullus gave a faint smile—a cold expression, a mix of confusion and rejection—before saying:
"No, I have never killed… at least, not that I remember."
"If you're just an ordinary human… why didn't you report me?"
Nullus shrugged indifferently and answered simply:
"Why would I interfere in your affairs?"
The man fell silent for a moment, then laughed in amusement, as if Nullus had said something unexpected.
"You're becoming interesting… Are you devoid of emotions? Why do you speak like a machine?"
Nullus tilted his head slightly, then said in a monotonous voice:
"I don't know if I have emotions… I don't even know if I'm… human."
Then, he decided to reveal a small part of the truth:
"I lost my memories a while ago, and now, I don't know who I am or what I was."
The mysterious man remained silent for a moment before whispering softly, as if tasting unexpected words:
"Wait… You're not human?"
Then, in a mocking tone, he added:
"Man, I suggest you try killing."
Despite the absurdity of the situation, Nullus was not surprised. He remained calm and replied in a cold voice:
"What pleasure is there in taking someone's life? What's the point? I don't understand."
The man laughed again, this time louder, then stepped closer and whispered:
"It's an indescribable thrill. The pain, the fear, the moment when a person's soul dissolves between your hands… It all turns into energy that feeds the void within us. Killing is what defines me—without it, I am nothing."
Nullus stared at him for a few seconds before murmuring to himself:
"Could killing be the way to fill the void within me? Could it grant me an identity?"
The man tilted his head slightly before saying:
"What's your name, man? By the way, my alias is Kiel."
Nullus answered without hesitation:
"The name I chose for myself is… Nullus."
"Then, Nullus… why don't you try killing?"
Nullus hesitated for a moment, then replied in a low voice, trying to conceal his true curiosity:
"I… didn't choose to be what I am. But I'm also not like others. I don't think I have the capacity to make a decision like… killing."
Silence lingered for a moment before Kiel spoke with a mysterious smile:
"Maybe choice is just an illusion, Nullus. Maybe everything we do… is already written."
Nullus looked at him without responding. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, but he knew one thing:
He hadn't reported Kiel. He hadn't tried to stop him.
He didn't really care.
Or maybe, this was part of his story that he had yet to uncover.
Kiel gazed at Nullus with enigmatic eyes before tilting his head slightly, as if evaluating something unseen. Then, in a quiet but subtly amused tone, he said:
"I was supposed to kill you for seeing me, but it seems you truly don't care… And my space tells me you haven't lied."
He reached into his black cloak and pulled out a small, matte black card, tossing it into the air, where it landed precisely at Nullus's feet.
"Take it."
Nullus bent down, picked up the card, and turned it between his fingers, examining the numbers etched onto it. There was no name—only a phone number inscribed in fine print.
He raised his eyes and asked, his tone devoid of emotion:
"An assassination agency? Is such a thing even real? I thought you were just a serial killer, not a hitman."
Kiel chuckled softly, then clasped his hands behind his back and said:
"Who said a person can't be both? I kill to satisfy my urges, and at the same time, I make money. Life is short, Nullus, and it would be foolish not to make use of your talent."
Nullus looked at the card again, without commenting.
Then, in an instant, everything vanished.
Nullus found himself back in his apartment, holding the black card, the air around him still heavy with an unfamiliar sensation…
As if Kiel had been nothing more than a fleeting dream.
Nullus looked at the card again. He felt no fear. No excitement.
But he did feel something else—curiosity.