Chapter One: Before I Go
The rain always sounded louder in the apartment when Lisa wasn't home.
Phyro lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The fluorescent light flickered above him, buzzing faintly. The carpet pressed cold against his cheek. He hadn't moved in hours. Didn't need to. No school today — not after what happened yesterday.
His phone vibrated once. Lisa.
[1 New Message]
Heading back soon. Want anything? Sushi? Soda? A hug? :)
He stared at the screen. Didn't reply.
The window rattled softly as the wind picked up. Outside, Tokyo moved like it always did — trains groaning in the distance, traffic humming, life going on without him.
But something felt… off.
Another message popped up.
Also… streets are weird today. Bunch of cops near Shibuya? Maybe another protest? Idk.
Still no reply.
His eyes drifted to the edge of his bed. A dull, silver razor sat on the nightstand, next to an unopened packet of bandages. It had been there for three days. He hadn't touched it. Hadn't decided yet.
He closed his eyes.
That's when the sirens started.
Not one. Dozens. Dozens of sirens, echoing through the city like it was the purge starting.
He sat up. Slowly. Not out of panic. Not even curiosity. Just a kind of numb confusion.
He walked to the window and looked down.
People were running. Not in crowds — in chaos. A man sprinted across the intersection, screaming, blood staining his shirt. A woman stumbled after him, but her movement was wrong. Twitchy. Off-balance. Like her legs were broken but didn't know it.
More followed. Some fast. Some slow. Some howling.
A child slammed into a car door, teeth gnashing, face soaked red.
Phyro didn't feel fear. Not yet.
He just whispered, "What the hell is this?"
Then he heard Lisa's voice — outside. Screaming his name.
"Phyro!!"
That voice.
Lisa.
It came from outside, and it wasn't her usual tone — not the stern, way she yelled when he forgot to take out the trash. This was raw. Like her throat was being torn apart just to push his name out.
Phyro's heart didn't skip. It didn't race. It stopped.
He backed away from the window, stumbled a little, and grabbed the bat by his desk — the one Lisa bought him years ago after he told her he wanted to join the baseball club. He never did.
The door rattled hard. Once. Twice. Then her voice again.
"Phyro! Open the door right now!"
He bolted for it, yanked it open—
Lisa stumbled in, eyes wide, hoodie soaked with rain and something darker. Her right hand was shaking. Her left clutched a kitchen knife so tight her knuckles had gone white.
"They're not people anymore," she breathed, slamming the door shut behind her. "They're fucking monsters."
For a second, Phyro couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
Then—
"What the hell is going on?"
Lisa grabbed his shoulders. "I don't know. Some guy bit a woman outside the station, and then she bit someone else. And then they—they got up, Phyro. Like nothing happened. Just blood and screaming and—Jesus—one of them chased a taxi down the street on foot. Like Olympic-level sprinting. And then others were just… dragging themselves. Slow. Groaning. But they wouldn't die."
He just stared.
She shook him. "Are you listening to me?! We have to go. Now. Grab your shit."