"Creeeak—clack—"
The old security door slowly swung open, dragging out a long metallic sound. In the silence of the night, the motion-activated light in the corridor flickered on, casting a pale, ghostly glow.
Ethan had just stepped one foot outside his apartment when he noticed a line of words written on the elevator doors not far away.
"Do not leave your residence for more than five minutes!"
The letters were twisted and crimson, like graffiti drawn by a mischievous child using fresh blood.
Ethan stopped.
What was this? A warning? A reminder… or some kind of prank?
Instinctively, he turned his head.
Through the open doorway, the living room lay in darkness. With the faint light from the corridor, his gaze immediately met a pair of bloodshot eyes.
It was a man around forty years old with a buzz cut. He wore faded yellowish jeans and a thick leather jacket. His eyes were fierce and violent—clearly not someone friendly.
But now, he was lying sideways on the living-room floor.
The skin on his face had already turned lifeless and gray, several bruises still visible. His eyes were wide open, blood vessels bursting within them, giving them a swollen purplish-red color, as if he were still staring at Ethan even now.
"Tap—"
Seeing something like that in the middle of the night was genuinely unsettling. Ethan quickly avoided the man's unclosed eyes and took another step forward into the hallway.
Cold air brushed against his skin. The stinging sensation helped clear his mind.
The skin on his knuckles had split open—injuries left from punching the man's face with his bare fists. The intruder had instinctively protected his chin, causing Ethan's blows to land on the man's forehead and eye sockets instead. Those areas were far harder than most people imagined.
The real injury, however, was on Ethan's forearm.
During the struggle, Ethan had locked both arms around the man's neck, compressing the carotid arteries on both sides—a textbook blood choke.
Yet even while his brain was being deprived of oxygen, the man had still clawed at Ethan's arms with terrifying strength. Though he failed to pry Ethan's hold apart, he left several deep wounds on Ethan's forearm.
The man's strength had been unbelievable.
In such a short time he had torn open Ethan's skin, even injuring blood vessels and muscle.
Thinking about it made Ethan feel strangely conflicted.
Because the man's resistance had been so fierce that only after Ethan confirmed he had completely lost the ability to fight back did he realize—
The man had already been dead for quite a while.
Where the hell had that lunatic come from?
For more than twenty years, Ethan had lived an ordinary life. He had never made enemies capable of breaking into his home to kill him. Nor did he possess anything worth stealing. Even his apartment was just a cheaply renovated unfinished unit.
But what he found hardest to understand was this—
Why did that lunatic have the key to his apartment?
The key was still inserted in the lock, as if the man had already known Ethan was inside and had left it there to save time.
"Click—"
Ethan reached out and pulled the key out.
The oxidized metal key lay quietly in his palm, dull and unremarkable.
At that moment, doubt appeared in his eyes.
A strange thought suddenly surfaced in his mind.
With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and took out his own key.
Then he placed the two keys side by side.
They were exactly the same.
The scratches, the faded color, even the piece of blackened tape wrapped around the handle—every detail was identical.
In this world, there were many things that looked alike.
Phones made in the same factory. Leaves from the same tree. Even the identical doors installed throughout this building.
But how could there ever be two things that were completely identical?
"Bzzzz—"
At that moment, the elevator beside him emitted a faint humming sound as it began moving upward from the first floor.
Ethan turned his head to look.
The blood-red sentence that had been written on the elevator door earlier had completely disappeared.
His instincts immediately sharpened.
Was there someone else here?
Inside the living room, the corpse still lay silently on the floor. The hallway beyond was dark, making it impossible to see anything clearly.
Raising his head slightly, Ethan's peripheral vision brushed across the peephole of the apartment opposite his.
It was completely dark.
No light came from inside.
"Bzzz— Bzzz—!"
At the same time, his phone suddenly vibrated, switching to an incoming call screen. Ethan paused for a moment before realizing it was probably the police returning his call.
After all, killing someone might be easy.
Disposing of the body was not.
Since Ethan had acted in self-defense, he had no reason to deal with the corpse himself.
Not long after the man died, Ethan had already called the police. After briefly explaining the situation to the dispatcher, he waited for officers to contact him.
He hadn't expected the call to come only now.
Glancing at the elevator display, he saw it had already reached the eighth floor. The detectives must be coming up.
He slipped the key into his pocket, turned his body slightly in caution, and answered the call.
"Hello, is this Mr. Ethan? Our department received your report at 7:35 PM regarding a home invasion. Could you please—"
A calm male voice spoke quickly from the other end, confirming Ethan's information.
"Yes."
Ethan had barely said two words when his body suddenly stiffened.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something.
The peephole on the opposite door—dark just moments ago—suddenly flickered with a tiny red light.
"Rustle…"
At the same time, a faint sound appeared.
Like someone shifting their foot slightly.
Someone… was hiding behind that door?
This building had only one resident.
So who was the person in that apartment?
Could it be the madman's accomplice?
Ethan took a deep breath. His voice remained calm as he answered the officer's question.
"I'm fine. I'm waiting at the door for you."
But a doubt suddenly appeared in his mind.
He had indeed called the police at 7:35.
Yet when he finished tending his wounds and opened the door, it was already eight o'clock.
For a case involving a human life, the police had taken nearly thirty minutes just to arrive?
"…At the door?"
The officer's voice paused slightly before continuing.
"We need to reconfirm your address."
They went over the address again, but Ethan's attention remained focused on the opposite door, guarding against any sudden movement.
Once the address was confirmed, the voice on the phone spoke again.
This time, however, the tone had become extremely serious.
"Mr. Ethan, three minutes ago we already arrived at the address you provided."
"We've been knocking on the door, but no one responded."
"Let me confirm again—are you certain you are safe right now?"
Three minutes ago?
Ethan's heart suddenly skipped a beat.
An eerie thought immediately surfaced.
He instinctively glanced at the time on his phone.
The numbers had just changed.
8:03 PM.
Exactly three minutes had passed since he stepped outside his apartment.
At that moment—
"Ding!"
The number on the elevator display suddenly stopped.
Then a cold mechanical voice echoed through the corridor.
"Floor twenty-one has been reached."
The elevator doors slowly slid open.
Ethan cautiously stepped aside, hiding himself in the elevator's blind spot.
He leaned slightly and looked inside.
The elevator…
was completely empty.