Rain stitched the city together with silver thread. Every droplet struck the rooftops in slow rhythm, like the world was breathing through smoke. From the window above his father's crumbling bar, Ren watched the street pulse with light, neon signs flickering against puddles that reflected nothing back. The noise below was constant, but none of it reached him.
He sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, bruised, his skin marked by a lifetime of lessons no one meant to teach. The walls here were thin. Sometimes, when the bar got loud enough, laughter crept through the plaster, rough, ugly laughter, the kind that had stopped meaning joy years ago.
He rolled his wrist, flexed his hand, and felt the dull ache bloom again beneath the bandages. It was an old kind of pain. Familiar. Manageable.
You keep touching it like it'll heal faster.
The voice arrived as it always did: steady, measured, too calm to be real.
Ren exhaled. "You're still here."
Where else would I be?
He didn't answer. The rain was easier to listen to.
You know what I think? the voice went on. I think you miss it—the hit, the sting, the way the world stops making sense for a second and then makes too much sense all at once. That moment right after the blow when everything feels clean.
Ren's reflection in the window was only a shadow. "You don't know anything."
I know what you see when you close your eyes.
He tightened the wraps around his knuckles, jaw set.
I know what you wish you'd done
differently.
You wish you'd never trusted him.
the voice whispered.
Ren's hands stilled.
Liam.
That name cut sharper than the rain.
Three weeks. That's how long it had been since he'd seen him, since the night the bullies cornered him behind the park. They hadn't found him by chance; they'd been waiting. Too precise. Too deliberate. The way one of them had said his name before throwing the first punch had told him everything he needed to know.
Ren never went to the hospital. He'd patched himself up and told his grandmother he'd fallen again. She didn't argue. She'd stopped asking questions by then.
But the truth still rotted somewhere deep. He could feel it every time the bruise on his ribs ached.
Now, sitting in this place that smelled of spilled beer and memory, he understood what X was trying to say.
He wanted to believe it was a mistake, that Liam had just talked to the wrong person, that the betrayal was accidental. But the part of him that still bled didn't believe in mistakes anymore.
Ren stood, grabbed his jacket from the chair, and slipped it on. The black suit, his real identity—hung beside it, untouched since the night he left his grandmother's. The sight of it made something in his chest twitch.
"Don't start," he muttered to the empty room.
You're not angry, X said softly. You're disappointed. That's worse.
Ren didn't respond. He reached into the drawer, took the small knife he kept hidden beneath a stack of old receipts, and slipped it into his pocket.
Outside, thunder rolled low, stretching over the horizon like a warning.
He left the bar through the back alley, stepping into the steam and rain. Water clung to his hood, dripped down his neck. The city was alive tonight—crowded, hungry, familiar. His boots splashed through puddles that carried reflections of signs he didn't care to read.
The walk to Liam's street wasn't long. Every corner carried a memory he'd rather forget—the shop where they'd bought fake cigarettes at fifteen, the underpass where they'd painted names they swore would mean something someday.
When he reached the small apartment complex near the laundromat, he paused beneath the awning, staring at the cracked window of unit 3B. The light inside flickered.
You're early, X murmured. He won't expect you yet. That's good.
Ren ignored the voice and climbed the stairs. The door wasn't locked. It never was.
Inside, the smell of instant noodles and damp carpet hit him first. Liam sat on the couch, phone in hand, tapping through messages with an anxious rhythm. He didn't notice Ren until the floor creaked.
When he looked up, his expression froze.
"Ren?"
The name hung between them.
Ren stepped closer. "We need to talk."
Liam's apartment was smaller than Ren remembered. Same peeling wallpaper, same single light bulb buzzing weakly overhead. But now the air felt different, heavy, almost suffocating. The smell of instant noodles had burned into something bitter.
Liam's voice trembled as he set his phone down. "You shouldn't be here, man."
Ren didn't answer. His hood dripped quietly, forming dark circles on the carpet. He stood still, like the room itself was holding its breath.
Liam swallowed. "Listen, about that night—"
Ren's hand shot up. "Don't lie."
The silence after that was brutal. Only the rain against the window moved.
Ren's tone was calm, too calm. "You told them where I'd be."
Liam's lips parted, but no words came. His shoulders collapsed inward. "They said they just wanted to talk, I swear. I didn't know they'd—"
Ren took a step forward. The light flickered once. "You did know."
"I didn't!" Liam's voice cracked. "They said they'd leave me alone if I gave them something—anything. They were threatening my brother, man, I didn't—"
Ren's expression didn't change. His eyes, usually distant, now burned with something colder than rage—clarity.
"Did you watch?" he asked quietly.
"What?"
"When they hit me." Ren's voice was almost a whisper. "Were you there?"
Liam shook his head so fast it looked desperate. "No—no, I left, I couldn't—I thought you'd be fine. You always are."
Ren's jaw tightened. "I wasn't."
For a second, Liam looked like he might cry. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Ren wanted to believe him. He wanted to let that apology mean something. But X's voice slipped in, smooth as oil through water.
He's not sorry he hurt you.
Ren's head twitched slightly.
He's sorry you found out.
Liam's words blurred, the room bending around them. The sound of his heartbeat grew louder in Ren's ears—thump, thump, thump—until it filled the space where thought used to be.
Do you remember what it felt like? X whispered. The first hit? The taste of blood? That sharp moment where pain made sense and the world finally stopped lying?
Ren's fists clenched. His breathing slowed.
Liam noticed. "Hey—Ren—come on, man. Don't—"
Ren blinked, and for a brief moment, he saw two reflections of himself in the cracked mirror behind Liam. One—the quiet boy still trying to hold on. The other—a blur of black and stillness. X.
The second reflection tilted its head and smiled faintly.
Finish it, X said. He chose them over you. He gave your name away like it meant nothing. Show him what that costs.
Ren's voice came out low, almost emotionless. "You ever think about what it means to be loyal, Liam?"
Liam stepped back, fear finally cutting through. "You're scaring me."
Ren's shadow fell over him. "Good."
Something in Ren's face shifted, his pupils dilated, jaw trembling not from anger but restraint. X's presence pulsed stronger, like a second heartbeat beneath his skin.
Step off the line, X whispered.
The world will never care for you like you cared for it. Stop pretending you're still human.
Ren grabbed the front of Liam's hoodie, slammed him against the wall. The impact rattled a shelf, sent a photo frame clattering to the ground.
Liam gasped, choking on fear. "Ren—please—"
Ren's hand hovered near his throat. He could feel the pulse there, weak, panicked, alive. It would be so easy.
Do it, X urged. Then you'll understand what real control feels like.
Ren's arm trembled. His vision blurred, a flash of his grandmother's kitchen, her hands shaking as she poured tea. The sound of her voice.
Don't lose the part that still feels.
He released Liam. Just let go.
Liam collapsed, gasping, clutching his chest.
Ren stood over him, shaking, caught between silence and something darker. X's voice hissed like static fading through the rain.
You're not ready yet. But you will be.
Ren turned away, his breath unsteady. "If I ever see you again," he said quietly, "run."
He left the apartment without looking back.
The stairwell lights flickered as he descended. Every step echoed like a clock counting down. By the time he reached the street, the rain had turned to mist.
That night, he walked until the streets blurred together. He didn't know where he was going, only that he couldn't stop. X followed in silence, always a few paces behind, whispering from the edges of thought.
You see how it feels? You think mercy keeps you pure, but it only keeps you weak. The world doesn't respect restraint. It respects resolve.
Ren pulled his hood tighter. "You're not real."
Neither are they, X replied. Only pain is.
Ren didn't argue. He didn't need to. The truth had already sunk in too deep.
The city lights stretched out before him, each one flickering like a heartbeat fading into the dark.
The door to the apartment was half open.
The smell hit first, liquor, smoke, something metallic underneath.
Ren stepped inside quietly, every creak of the floorboard louder than his heartbeat.
The TV flickered with static light, throwing ghost white shapes across the room. Empty bottles leaned against one another like gravestones.
His father sat hunched on the couch, head buried in his hands. The man looked smaller than Ren remembered, his shoulders sagged, his breath uneven, a puddle of spilled beer spreading beneath his boots.
Ren spoke softly. "You're still drinking."
The man didn't look up. "And you're still sneaking out."
The answer came slurred, soaked in bitterness.
Ren said nothing. The rain outside tapped the windows like impatient fingers.
Finally, his father lifted his face. His eyes were bloodshot, but there was something in them Ren hadn't seen before, not anger, not defiance. Something broken.
"Why'd you come back?" he asked.
"I live here," Ren said.
"You exist here," the man corrected, voice cracking. "You don't live anywhere."
Ren stepped closer, the tension sharp as wire. "You want me gone that badly?"
"I wanted you safe," his father snapped, the word stumbling out like it surprised him. "But you're just like me. Same temper, same emptiness. You think the world owes you a fight."
Ren's jaw clenched. "You don't know me."
"I know the look in your eyes," his father said quietly. "It's the same one I had when I hit your mother. The night she left."
He swallowed hard, trembling. "You were ten. You tried to stop me. You shouldn't have had to."
The confession landed like a stone in water, rippling through Ren until his chest ached. He turned away.
"That's not why I'm like this."
"Then what is?" his father pressed. "The streets? The gangs? You think beating people makes you different from me?"
Ren's vision blurred. X stirred, voice low, deliberate.
He's pretending to understand. He's confessing to feel clean. Break him, and you'll see what truth really looks like.
Ren gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. "Stop talking."
The man blinked, confused. "What?"
"Not you," Ren whispered. His reflection in the TV shifted — X's outline standing there, arms folded, head tilted.
His father followed Ren's gaze, frowning. "Who are you talking to?"
Ren blinked, and the figure was gone. Only static.
He'll never see me, X said softly. Only you will.
His father rubbed his face with shaking hands. "You scare me, Ren. You don't even flinch anymore. You walk in like a ghost."
Ren felt something twist in his chest. "Maybe that's what I am."
"No," the man said, voice cracking. "You're my son."
Ren wanted to laugh, but the sound died before it left his throat. He remembered being small — his father's shadow on the doorway, his mother crying in the kitchen, the smell of whiskey in the air.
The memory felt distant, warped. He could almost see X standing there beside his younger self, whispering even then.
He made you. You owe him nothing.
Ren's father's voice trembled again. "When your grandmother called and said you'd left her house, I thought it was good. Thought you'd finally stopped fighting ghosts. But now…" He looked around at the bottles, the darkness. "You came back to this. And I don't even know who you are anymore."
Ren's throat tightened. "Neither do I."
The man's shoulders sagged. He reached for another bottle, then hesitated. The cap fell from his fingers and rolled under the couch. "You think I don't see it? Every bruise on your face, every night you disappear. You think I don't know what you're doing?"
Ren met his eyes. "Then stop me."
"I can't," the man whispered. His voice broke on the last word. "I can't even stop myself."
For the first time, Ren saw tears cut through the grime on his father's face. The sight made something inside him snap, not in anger, but exhaustion. Years of resentment dissolved into hollow silence.
X's voice pressed closer, like breath against his ear.
He's weak. He'll drown and pull you down with him.
Ren whispered back, "Then I'll drown too."
His father leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice shaking. "Do you know why I drink? Because it's quiet. Because when I close my eyes, I don't see what I did to you. To her." His fingers dug into his scalp. "Every night, I see your face the way it was then, scared, trying to be brave. And I can't stand it."
Ren's breath hitched. The room felt too small, air too thick.
"You could stop," he said.
His father laughed bitterly. "And what would I be without the bottle? Just a man who ruined everything." He looked up. "Don't become that. Please. Don't let anger be the only thing that talks for you."
X's tone darkened.
He's begging you to forgive him so he can die clean. Let him choke on it instead.
Ren stepped back, shaking his head. "You don't get to tell me what to be."
His father nodded slowly, as if expecting that answer. "Maybe not. But I can tell you what not to become."
The bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. He stared at the shards, then at his son. His voice was barely a whisper now. "I'm sorry."
Ren didn't know if it was real, or just another ghost of guilt spilling out.
But when the man began to sob, quiet, broken, the sound of a body collapsing under its own regrets — Ren froze. The noise clawed at him, tore through the armor he'd built. For the first time in years, he wanted to reach out.
He didn't. He couldn't.
X murmured, almost gentle now.
There it is — the sound of weakness. The sound that made you who you are. Remember it.
Ren turned toward the door. "You said you wanted me safe," he said quietly. "Then stop looking for me."
He left before his father could answer.
Outside, the air hit like cold water.
Ren stood beneath the flickering streetlight, soaked in rain, the stolen police radio humming faintly in his pocket.
He could still hear his father's sobs, muffled by the walls, the rhythm syncing with the thunder overhead.
He broke, X whispered. Now you can, too.
Ren closed his eyes. "No. Not yet."
He slipped the radio's earpiece in. Static. Then a voice.
"Unit twelve, possible suspect near East Market. Wearing black. Repeat, suspect wearing black."
Ren's lips tightened.
He pulled his hood up, fastening the mask beneath his chin. The world around him shifted, sharper, quieter, colder.
In the window's reflection, X stood behind him, same build, same face, but the eyes burned red with focus.
Ren didn't look away this time.
"You're not real," he said.
X smiled. Neither are you.
Then the voice faded, and only the rain remained.
Ren stepped into the street, swallowed by the dark.