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Chapter 1 – The Death of Rules
The rules are everything.
In this world, they are not guidelines.
They are your life.
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Rule 1
Never look at anyone. They have their own laws. If you stare too long, you will violate them—and you will be killed.
You may avert your gaze, turn your head, pretend not to see. But if you make a mistake… John will appear.
The Reaper hates those who break his laws.
Rule 2
Do not look into mirrors, nor into TV screens. Nothing is safe.
Even yourself can kill you. The curse of this world hides within every reflection.
He sees everything through those surfaces. Every glance holds his shadow.
Rule 3
Repeat the same actions, every day. Do not panic when something feels wrong.
The others will mistake you as one of them. They won't kill you… not yet.
They are only searching for fragments of memory—the ones he sealed away. Everyone here is just a puppet, controlled in despair.
Rule 4
Please… If you find the gate, enter it. I will be there, waiting.
I can help you… please, someone, save me.
The rules stop there.
But the writing continues.
There is no ink. Only blood, dripping across the page, next to a lifeless body.
(xD_Idiot – Dead. Betrayed by his friend.)
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I woke up in a strange room.
Not the cheap apartment I knew.
A television was on. I stared at it.
A news anchor was speaking, but—crack—he suddenly looked at me.
His face began to twist. His voice still echoed from the screen, but his lips didn't move.
His arm reached out, stretching toward me.
I searched for something to throw, but when I blinked—he was gone.
"…Am I… dreaming?"
I whispered to myself, trying to stay sane.
I collapsed into a chair, massaging my temples. My head was splitting apart.
In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face. Then I froze.
The mirror.
"…That's… not me."
My reflection smirked, its eyes glowing red. Its hand reached out, scraping the glass.
BANG.
I stumbled backward. The vision vanished. Nothing there.
"…What the hell is happening to me?"
I staggered back to the living room. The TV was glitching, static crawling across the screen.
I pressed the remote desperately—nothing.
The feeling of being watched grew stronger, heavier, but… no one was there.
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Footsteps. Rushing closer.
A young man was running, chased by dozens. His face twisted in terror.
He tripped, fell to the ground, hand stretched out desperately for help.
But the only answer was the sound of bones snapping.
The mob tore someone apart with bare hands, feeding like starving animals.
I covered my mouth, trembling, peeking through the door crack.
CRACK.
Their heads twisted.
Three-hundred and sixty degrees.
And then… all of them looked straight at me.
Darkness swallowed my vision.
And I fainted.
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