Apricot twisted beneath her blankets, the darkness of her room thick enough to feel. Midnight lay silent, yet whispers crept through the plaster—soft, damp, patient. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the voices kept threading along the walls, rising from the floorboards, flickering in the red blink of her alarm.

Something else breathed in the room. The air felt boxed-in, the corners swollen with shadow. Whenever she dared a glance, she caught the impression of figures crouched just beyond sight.

A cold tug brushed her sheets. Phantom fingers traced her legs, and her breath hitched in her throat. No scream escaped her—only the steady hum of the city outside, indifferent and far away.

When sleep finally claimed her, it dragged her into a city that couldn’t exist. An abyss opened beneath her, revealing streets built of impossible geometry: stairways dropping into voids, doors opening onto nothing, towers hanging upside-down against a burning sky. Shapes moved in those alleys—unseen but watching, whispering to a distant king hidden in the dark.

The sound of them vibrated through her bones.

And Apricot woke with the terrible sense that the veil between that world and hers was paper-thin… and tearing.

Morning light chased away the night, but not the dread clinging to Apricot’s skin. A full week had passed since the robbery—since everything—and she still hadn’t shaken the shadows that followed her into sleep. She drifted into the university lecture hall bleary-eyed, her mind snagged on half-remembered whispers from the night before.

Class dragged on in a blur. Apricot barely registered the slides, the notes, the faint buzz of conversation around her. When the lecture finally ended, she began packing up with everyone else—until Miss Akagi’s crisp voice cut through the thinning crowd.

“Apricot. Stay after class, please.”

A sinking weight filled Apricot’s stomach. Students streamed out, leaving the hall hollow and echoing. She remained frozen at her desk, hands gripping her bag, as the last footsteps faded down the corridor.

Only then did Miss Akagi speak again—her voice sharp, carrying effortlessly across the empty rows.

“Quite the daredevil, aren’t we, Apricot?”

The thunder of it jolted straight through her. The hall was nearly deserted—just Apricot alone under those high metal walls, her professor’s words echoing like a reprimand broadcast to the whole campus.

Miss Akagi stood rigid at the podium, harsh lights gleaming off her glasses. One finger leveled at Apricot like a drawn weapon. Apricot’s heart stumbled; she knew exactly what was coming.

“You were assigned to report the news, not become it.”
The wagging finger kept time with every syllable. In her other hand, the professor held Apricot’s printed article like evidence.

Silence stretched. Apricot’s nails dug into her thigh, bracing for impact.

Then Miss Akagi inhaled—a sharp, cooling hiss. “That said… your piece is captivating.”

Apricot blinked, startled.

The professor stepped out from behind the podium, heels clicking with measured precision. “If I didn’t know better,” she said, circling closer, “I’d assume this was fiction. But breaking into a crime scene for a story…” She shook her head, disappointment cutting clean.
“That is a serious offense, young lady.”

Apricot’s cheeks burned. Last week’s recklessness flashed through her mind—ducking under police tape, camera in hand, chasing a story she’d had no business touching.

“I should expel you on the spot,” Miss Akagi said.

The words struck like a gavel. Apricot’s breath snagged; a cold knot tightened in her throat.

“But,” the professor went on, one brow lifting, “it’s not often we see such audacity.” A thin smile ghosted across her lips. “I’ll let it slide. The Ministry left your punishment to me, fortunately for you. But if anything like this happens again, you’ll lose your state-issued license before you can blink. Journalism would be over for you—you’d be lucky to write obituaries.”

Apricot exhaled shakily. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.” Relief and shame tangled in her chest; she’d escaped by a hair.

Miss Akagi’s sternness eased by a fraction. She lifted Apricot’s article between two fingers. “Now… this story.”

Apricot looked up, pulse finally settling.

“For a junior journalist,” the professor said with a faint smirk, “it’s impressive work. Exhilarating, even. Leaving it as a class assignment would be a waste, don’t you think?”

Apricot blinked, certain she’d misheard. “I… yes, ma’am.”

Miss Akagi folded the pages once, thoughtfully. “I have contacts at a weekly independent paper. Not the Uchellian Times—your piece isn’t fit for state media—but a reputable journal outside the Ministry’s reach.” She tapped the article with a nail. “If you’re willing to sell it, I can put this in front of them. We might get it published properly.”

Apricot’s eyes widened. A real publication—her first. A spark of joy cut clean through the morning’s dread. “Sell you my story?” she echoed. “Yes—absolutely, yes!”

“Good,” Miss Akagi chuckled, amused by her enthusiasm. She handed the paper back. “Keep it up, Apricot. You might pass this course with flying colors—provided you attend class on time and avoid further… incriminating field work.”

There was humor in the warning now.

Apricot found herself smiling despite everything. “Yes, ma’am,” she said softly. Her cheeks warmed—not from shame this time, but from possibility.

A morning that began with fear ended with a glimmer of hope; her reckless stunt hadn’t ruined her future after all. It might even earn her first byline in print.

That afternoon, Apricot drifted into the neon heart of Blue Ash with her friends. Downtown pulsed with color: tower-high holograms crackled against steel facades, maglev trams whispered overhead, and crowds moved like a restless tide beneath the electric glow of ads and augmented reality projections. The noise, the heat, the press of life—everything conspired to drown out the morning’s adrenaline.

They wandered through the district, lingering at boutique windows and dodging swarms of drone-cams hawking the newest Okabe gadget. At a crowded intersection, the scent of grilling meat pulled them toward Oorudo Chiifu, the famous street stall marked by a grinning neon old man. Warm orange light washed over them as they ordered skewers. Apricot bit into the sweet, smoky chicken, letting the simple normalcy steady her nerves.

Laughter followed them from spot to spot—Machi’s fierce triumph during a round of arcade kart racing, the chaotic joy of weaving through an alley market stacked with bootleg games and vintage comics. For a while, Apricot let herself forget the shadows that had been stalking her nights ever since the incident last week.

By early evening, Apricot and her friends reached the base of Blue Ash’s tallest skyscraper—Big Tower. Its mirrored walls speared into the clouds, the top lost in smog and fading daylight. More arcology than office building, it housed corporate HQs, government ministries, even residential blocks; most of the city lived in its shadow one way or another.

Apricot tilted her head back, throat tightening. Somewhere above, hidden behind glass and clouds, decisions were made that shaped everyone’s lives. A giant holoscreen near the entrance displayed a smiling minister mid-announcement, his voice swallowed by the street noise. The Tower felt less like a building and more like an eye—cold, towering, watching.

Inside, they filed into the Sky Elevator, the massive glass lift famed for its panoramic ascent. Packed in with tourists, they rose smoothly along the Tower’s outer shell. The city unfurled beneath them in widening layers of neon and concrete. Apricot’s ears popped as they climbed.

Usually the view thrilled her. Usually she’d press to the glass, pointing out districts below. Today she lingered at the back while her friends chattered, her gaze drifting over the metropolis stretching to the horizon—highways like glowing veins, skyscrapers jutting like steel cliffs, alleys swallowed in permanent dusk.

Her thoughts turned to those hidden spaces beneath the neon, the places where daylight never truly reached. She pictured shapes moving down there, sliding between shadows as if the city itself had grown feral.

The city looks different tonight, she realized—less awe, more menace. Like a steel jungle ready to breathe out something ancient.

Logic whispered it was just stress, just lingering nightmares.

But Apricot couldn’t shake the sense that somewhere down in that glowing grid, something was waiting for her. Something not entirely human.

Apricot only noticed she’d been chewing her nails when a sharp sting shot through her fingertip. She’d gnawed one down to the quick. Wincing, she forced her hands to her sides and rubbed the ragged edge. Get a grip, she told herself. It’s just a cityscape.

She turned toward her friends for grounding.

Solenne stood close by, tucked under Arjun’s arm as they admired the view. Her reflection hovered faintly on the glass—petite, dressed in a cobalt sleeveless hoodie with white stripes, long gold hair framing a face both cute and determined. Apricot still found it surreal that someone so doll-like worked as a police officer. But beneath Solenne’s soft smile was iron; Apricot had seen the resolve that made her a natural in uniform.

Arjun was her opposite in almost every way—tall, broad-shouldered, protective. His tanned skin bore faint scars, relics of a past life in Stezyl, the hardline state behind Arslana’s iron curtain. He rarely spoke of it, but Apricot knew from Solenne’s quiet hints that Arjun had survived violence most people here couldn’t imagine. Now he kept his hair trimmed neat and wore an easy grin around them, yet there was always a shadow behind his eyes.

Blue Ash was meant to be a refuge for people like him.

But as Apricot looked back over the sprawling city—its alleys swallowed in dusk and its towers gleaming like cold blades—she felt that supposed safety thinning, becoming fragile. Almost imaginary.

Machi pressed her face to the glass, excitedly pointing out something far below—maybe the university, maybe the stadium. With her neon-pink barrettes and boundless energy, she seemed immune to fear.

Apricot tried to anchor herself in the moment. “The city below… it’s so far away,” she murmured, barely aware she’d spoken aloud.

Solenne glanced back with a warm smile. “What do you think, Apri? Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

The nickname softened Apricot’s nerves, but she still felt everyone’s eyes shift toward her. She hadn’t been listening at all. Cornered, she let honesty slip out.

“It’s… scary.”

Machi peeled away from the window, baffled. “Scary? How?”

Apricot bit her lip. “The height,” she said quietly. She gestured at the endless drop beyond the glass. “If a drone clipped the elevator tube, even a small crack… the pressure could pull us out. We’d just—”

She stopped herself, but the image had already formed: bodies whipped into open air, neon signs spinning past, the city rising to swallow them.

A cold shiver ran through her. Apricot turned from the window, trying to shake the thought loose.

Arjun smirked at Apricot’s dire scenario, one brow arched. Solenne’s concern softened her features, but Machi simply stared as if Apricot had grown a second head.

“Girl, are you sick?” Machi blurted, half-laughing, half-horrified. “We’re out having fun and you go there?” Her bangs bounced as she shook her head.

Apricot flushed. “Sorry. Forget it.” She folded her arms, as if she could physically tuck the thought away. Get it together, she scolded herself. You’ll freak them out.

The silence edged toward awkward—until Arjun stepped in with his deep, accented rumble. “Don’t vorry. I feel ze same. Elevators like zis… always make my skin crawl.” He eyed the glass wall warily. “We must be at least a mile up, no?”

His rolled R’s and warm grin softened the mood.

Machi groaned theatrically. “Not even half a mile! Ugh, both of you, stop with the horror scenarios.” She swatted at the air as if batting away their words. “Now I’m picturing it too, and it sucks.”

A small laugh escaped Apricot before she could stop it. Arjun joined in, then Solenne, covering her smile with her hand. Machi glared for a second, then cracked a reluctant grin.

“You’re all horrible,” she declared, crossing her arms in an exaggerated pout—only making them laugh harder.

By the time the elevator glided to a stop, the heaviness in Apricot’s mind had eased. Joking with her friends—laughing, even about morbid things—had pulled her back into the present. They stepped out into the Tower’s mid-level concourse, a swirl of lights and chatter, and the conversation quickly shifted to evening plans. Machi suggested a retro theater nearby playing an old horror film; the group agreed instantly.

A scary movie after a day like this? Why not. Apricot nodded along, though her stomach fluttered. At least it’s a fear I can laugh off, she thought. Not like the ones that follow me.

Later, Apricot sat in a darkened theater, trying to keep her heartbeat steady. On the curved silver screen, a lone man crept down a shadowed alley, each footstep echoing through surround speakers. The boutique cinema specialized in cult classics—charmingly old-fashioned, but with a semi-3D projector that made the alley seem to stretch into the room itself.

Her seat vibrated faintly with the rumble of distant thunder from the film. Apricot clutched her popcorn box, the buttery smell thick in the air, doing nothing to steady her nerves.

“Damn it… they can’t keep doing this,” the on-screen man whispered, voice trembling. He glanced over his shoulder into the empty alley. Apricot realized she’d stopped breathing. Beside her, Machi clamped onto her arm, stiff as a board, though she’d never admit she was scared.

Apricot eased another kernel of popcorn into her mouth, chewing as quietly as she could. Why do theaters sell the loudest snack on earth? she wondered. All around them came the rustle of candy wrappers, a cough, shifting seats. The absurdity almost made her smile—until the camera angle shifted.

The alley unfolded across the screen: long, narrow, swallowed by darkness at the far end. A flickering streetlamp warped every shadow. Apricot scanned the frame, waiting. This is it, she thought. Something’s going to jump out. She sank lower in her seat.

On screen, the man took a cautious step. Another set of footsteps emerged from the dark—slow, deliberate. He froze.
“H-hello? Tobei, is that you?” he whispered.

The footsteps stopped. Silence pressed tight.

A figure stepped into the fringe of lamplight.

“Tobei? Thank God, man, I—”

His relief choked off. The figure’s grin was too wide, too rigid. Even in the grainy dark, the wrongness was unmistakable: eyes drawn long and thin, wriggling like pale tapeworms; a mouth stretching far beyond human shape.

In an instant, that grotesque mouth unhinged. Something slick and rope-like shot forward—a fleshy parasite snapping toward the man. He barely had time to scream before it latched onto his face.

Machi’s scream tore through the theater at the exact moment the parasite struck. It echoed off the walls, setting off a chain reaction of startled shrieks from half the audience. Apricot jolted upright, heart battering her ribs, nerves crackling with adrenaline. On screen, the victim’s cries gurgled out as monster-Tobei hissed and the scene cut to black—but the real shock had already come from her friend.

Realizing she’d been the loudest person in the room, Machi clamped a hand over her mouth. “Mmph!” She shrank into her seat as embarrassed chuckles rose around them.

Apricot finally exhaled. Machi’s face glowed pink in the flickering light, eyes wide with mortified disbelief.
“S-sorry,” she whispered.

Apricot couldn’t help but smile. She squeezed Machi’s hand. “It’s fine,” she whispered back, fighting her own nervous laugh. In a strange way, the outburst had grounded her—reminding her this was fiction, packaged fear. The real world isn’t like this, she told herself.

When the credits rolled and lights came up, the theater buzzed with excitement. Machi tried to hustle everyone out before the teasing began, but Arjun was already grinning.

“Gee, Machi,” he rumbled, mock trembling, “I don’t know what scared me more—Tapeworm Tobei or your screaming.”

Machi groaned, burying her face in both hands. “Stooop. I wasn’t that loud!”

“You out-screamed the surround sound, girl,” Solenne said, laughing as she linked arms with Machi. “Half the people in there jumped because of you.”

Machi peeked through her fingers, pouting. “It looked so real, okay? That thing was just… ugh.” She stuck out her tongue in disgust.

Arjun chuckled. “Exactly. It scared you, you screamed. That’s the whole equation.” He gave an exaggerated shiver.

Machi puffed her cheeks but had no comeback. Instead, she tugged Solenne forward. “I need to shoot something cheerful before I start checking behind me every five seconds.” She pointed toward the small arcade at the edge of the lobby—an eclectic cluster of retro cabinets and modern VR pods bathing the room in soft neon. “Sky Fighters is open. Dibs!”

She darted ahead and slid into the fighter-jet cockpit cabinet, gripping the controls like a seasoned pilot. Pixelated skies bloomed across the wraparound screens. The others gathered behind the machine, leaning on cabinets, arms folded, content to watch Machi blow off steam.

Apricot stood beside Solenne, the after-buzz of the movie fading into the warm comfort of familiar noise. Digital beeps and chiptunes filled the air. The red carpet was sticky in places—spilled soda from some long-fled patron—and the air held a mix of machine oil and sweet snacks.

Shabby or not, the arcade felt safe. Normal. A tiny island of nostalgia where the horrors of the city—real or imagined—couldn’t reach her.

Machi’s digital fighter jet tore across the screen, rolling and weaving through enemy fire with practiced reflexes. Her tongue poked out in concentration as the machine rumbled beneath her. A volley of rockets streaked from her jet.

“Yes!” she hissed.

From the opposite side of the cabinet, an unseen player yelped as his plane exploded. “Ah, damn it!”

Machi’s grin spread wide; she didn’t gloat aloud, but her eyes sparkled with triumph.

Apricot and Solenne leaned over the back of the seat to catch the final seconds. When Machi’s victory banner flashed, Apricot clapped her shoulder. “Alright, Machi—ace pilot of the day.”

Solenne nodded with a warm smile. “You showed that guy who’s boss.”

Arjun cracked his knuckles with a smirk. “Think you’re hot stuff? Bet you can’t beat me.”

Before Machi could bite back, Solenne shot Arjun a sharp look. “Let her enjoy the win, you brute.”

He sighed dramatically and went to lean against a pinball machine.

Machi glanced over her shoulder, laughing. “Please. If I beat you, it’d be a national embarrassment. Who’d feel safe knowing the country’s finest can’t even win an arcade dogfight against me?”

Solenne sighed at Machi’s jab. “You two…” she muttered, shaking her head. Apricot exchanged an amused glance with her. Machi and Arjun’s bickering was practically tradition—lighthearted, familiar, never serious.

“You’d think they’d be used to each other by now,” Apricot whispered.

Solenne chuckled. “They have their own language. For them, bickering is flirting.”

Machi hopped out of the seat, only for Arjun to swoop in—until she stuck out her tongue and smacked the Player Two button. The machine reset, and both erupted into a two-player dogfight—Machi trash-talking, Arjun replying with dramatic outrage.

Apricot drifted slightly aside with Solenne, letting the neon glare wash over them. Solenne massaged her temples, looking tired for the first time that day.

“Long week?” Apricot asked gently, remembering Solenne’s earlier sigh about reports.

Solenne gave a weary half-smile. “You could say that. I’ve been drowning in paperwork. It’s like the city’s gone mad lately.”

A twinge tightened Apricot’s chest. “Gone mad? How do you mean?” she asked—part journalist, part worried friend.

Solenne cast a quick look around to make sure no one was listening. Arjun and Machi were too busy battling it out on-screen to notice anything else. Lowering her voice, she said, “Murders, Apri. More than usual. Strange ones. And that bank robbery a few days ago…” She let the thought hang. Everyone in their circle knew Apricot had been there—just not what she’d really witnessed.

Apricot’s cheeks warmed. “I… yeah. That.”

Solenne’s gaze softened. “I’m not here to lecture you. But since you’ve already seen some of it, I can tell you a little—off the record.” She gave a knowing smile.

Apricot raised her hands. “Scout’s honor. Not a word in print.”
The truth was she was desperate to know more.

Solenne drew a slow breath, voice barely audible beneath the arcade’s hum. “Something’s seriously wrong out there. This morning’s briefing included a case straight out of a horror flick.” Her usual composure faltered; worry crept into her eyes. “A pop singer was attacked backstage. By some of her own fans.”

Apricot blinked. “Attacked how?”

Solenne grimaced. “Chewed off her face.”

Apricot’s stomach twisted. “They… ate her?”

Solenne nodded. “She didn’t survive. The crime scene photos…” She shut her eyes, pained. “The attackers were just teenagers. Completely feral when we got them. It took four officers to restrain a fifteen-year-old girl.”

Apricot felt the color drain from her face. The arcade suddenly seemed colder. “What… what would make them do that?” she whispered.

“We don’t know,” Solenne said. “The kids can’t string a sentence together. They growl, bite—like animals. The brass already has theories.” She cast a quick glance toward Arjun; he was too busy shouting at the screen while Machi whooped in victory—she’d beaten him again. Satisfied they were out of earshot, Solenne leaned closer. “Between us? Some of the officers think it’s a bioweapon. Arslana’s been caught experimenting with nasty stuff before. With the war…” She let the implication hang.

Apricot’s mind raced. A bioweapon turning teenagers into cannibals? It sounded like a conspiracy-theory fever dream. Yet after the reaper… nothing felt impossible anymore.

Her thoughts snapped in half as a low, guttural voice murmured right behind her:

“Someone chews your face off…”

Apricot spun around, heart slamming into her ribs. “What?”

But behind her stood only an out-of-order arcade cabinet humming quietly, its dead screen reflecting neon. No one was close enough to have spoken.

Ice flooded her veins. She hadn’t imagined that—the voice had been too clear, too close. And it didn’t sound human. It sounded like something torn from her nightmares.

Solenne noticed her jolt. “Apri? You okay?” she asked, brows knitting with concern.

Apricot swallowed hard and forced a nod. “Y-yeah. I’m fine.” Her voice came out thin, trembling despite her effort to steady it. She latched back onto the conversation. “That’s… awful.”

Machi and Arjun returned just in time to catch her last words. Machi groaned. “You said it, Apri. Like that movie wasn’t nightmare fuel already. Now Solenne’s telling us people are getting drugged into face-eating. Thanks for that, Sol.” She shuddered dramatically.

Arjun slipped a hand onto Solenne’s shoulder. “It’s war paranoia,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Arslana wouldn’t unleash something like that here. Too unpredictable, too messy. Not a useful weapon. More likely it’s some local crazies or a bad batch of street chems.”

Apricot nodded, though his logic didn’t quite settle her. “The war between Arslana and Castor is stirring up trouble even here in Uchella,” she murmured. Her gaze drifted to the arcade carpet—a faded red-brown stain near her boot caught her eye. It looked disturbingly like dried blood, though it was almost certainly cola. She tore her eyes away.

Solenne studied her, worry softening her features. “Speaking of trouble…” she began gently. “Apricot, you might want to change your route home for a while.”

Apricot blinked. “My route home?”

Solenne nodded. “If you’re walking or taking the train alone—especially near the university or the old district—take a different route for now. Or call me or Arjun. We’ll drive you.”

Apricot tried to laugh it off, though her palms suddenly felt damp. “What is this, guys? You’re making it sound like I’ve got a stalker.”

The joke landed hollow.

Arjun’s expression was uncharacteristically grave. “Just listen,” he said, voice low. He and Solenne shared a look—quiet, urgent. Not casual concern. Real worry.

Apricot’s mouth went dry. She swallowed. “Alright. I’ll avoid my shortcuts. And I’ll call if I need a ride.” She forced a smile. “Promise.”

Solenne’s shoulders eased a little. “Good.”

Machi frowned between them. “Okay, now I’m freaked out. What’s going on?”

Solenne hesitated, clearly torn. “It’s just… a precaution,” she said at last. “There’ve been some reports, and—”

Apricot cut in before she could finish. She didn’t want Machi spiraling—or herself, for that matter. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said quickly, waving a hand as if brushing the whole topic aside.

Trying to redirect the tension, she slipped into a lighter tone. “So, did any of you check out that new show at the Expo Center? I hear—”

But Solenne wasn’t so easily steered away. She touched Apricot’s arm, voice gentling. “Actually… Apri, one more thing. Did you see or hear anything strange last week? Ventaro evening?”

A jolt of panic hit Apricot. last week. Her pulse spiked; a bead of sweat slid down her spine. She forced her expression still. “last week? No… nothing. Why?”

Solenne watched her for a long, uncomfortable beat. Apricot hoped the arcade’s flickering neon disguised the lie. Finally Solenne sighed.

“There were a lot of calls to the station,” she said quietly. “People reported… sightings. Apparitions, maybe. And”—her tone darkened—“some bodies turned up in the same areas people claimed they saw something.”

The arcade seemed to tilt. Bodies. Nausea surged through Apricot.

Solenne reacted instantly, wrapping an arm around her. “Hey, it’s okay.” She pulled Apricot into a warm, steady hug. Apricot only then realized she was shaking. Solenne held her tighter, her voice barely above the hum of arcade cabinets. “You’ve been through a lot. If you need anything—anything at all—call us. Even in the middle of the night. We’ll come.”

Apricot closed her eyes, clinging to the comfort. “Thank you,” she whispered. It helped—but only a little. Her heartbeat still wouldn’t settle.

I can’t tell them, she thought. I can’t.

As Solenne let her go, Apricot’s gaze drifted past her friend—and froze.

In the far corner, beyond the neon haze, something moved. A shadow, tall and thin, sliding along the wall. Human-shaped… but wrong. Elongated. Warped. Masquerading as part of the darkness.

Gamers milled obliviously in the foreground, laughing, shouting over cabinet noise. But that horned silhouette slipped silently between machines, gliding like a predator hugging the perimeter of the room.

Apricot’s breath caught. Rational thought battled instinct—It can’t be real. Not here. Not in a crowded arcade.

But she saw him.

The reaper’s silhouette clung to the far wall, tall and stretched, its shape warping against the neon. The shadowed head tilted—no features, no eyes—yet Apricot felt its stare like ice along her spine. Her heartbeat thundered; the rest of the arcade bled to the edges of her vision until only that shape remained.

She opened her mouth—she wasn’t sure if to warn someone or scream—

A swarm of teenagers burst through the entrance behind them, laughing, shouting, scattering noise and motion across the room.

And the shadow was gone.

One moment it loomed; the next it dissolved into the ordinary darkness cast by arcade signs. Apricot’s eyes darted from cabinet to cabinet, scanning the corners, desperate to find it.

Nothing.

Solenne’s voice cut in. “Apri? You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.” She gave a small, nervous chuckle.

Apricot barely heard her. She kept searching the arcade, breath trembling, a bead of sweat sliding down her cheek. Had it left? Or was it still here, blending in… watching?

The arcade’s noise gradually seeped back into Apricot’s awareness—explosions from game cabinets, laughter, the hum of cooling fans.

“Is it just me, or did it get hot in here?” Machi groaned as she climbed out of the cockpit, fanning herself dramatically. Her face was flushed, whether from victory or something else.

Arjun wiped his brow. “Yeah. Maybe the AC’s busted.” He glanced up at the vents.

Apricot felt it too—a heavy, electric warmth clinging to the air. Was it because of him? Did they feel it too? Machi and Arjun chalked it up to heat. Only Apricot sensed the wrongness behind it.

It’s here. It’s watching me.

Trying to steady herself, she glanced at the oversized clock above the prize counter, neon Mombo Soda sign buzzing beside it. Late. Thank God—an excuse.

“Well,” she said, forcing a casual tone despite the tremor in her voice, “it’s getting late. I should probably head home. Today was… really fun. Thanks, guys.” She managed a strained smile.

Solenne’s concern sharpened. “Are you sure? We can leave with you.”

Apricot shook her head too quickly. “I’m fine—just tired. Adrenaline crash from the movie.” She gave a weak laugh. “And I have class in the morning. You get it.”

Arjun stepped forward, already fishing out his keys. “At least let us drive you.”

Apricot waved him off, hands raised. “No, no, really. My train stop’s only a few blocks away. I’ll catch the next one and be home in no time.”

Arjun hesitated but didn’t press the issue. Solenne pulled Apricot into another quick hug. “Be safe, okay? Text me when you get home,” she murmured.

Apricot squeezed her back. “I will. Promise.”

Machi, still scrolling through her phone and reliving her arcade victory, waved vaguely. “Bye bye, Apri! Don’t dream of Tobei’s worms tonight!”

Solenne shot her a glare. Machi blinked, confused.

Apricot forced a small laugh, said her goodbyes, and slipped out into the evening.

---

“I’m home,” she called softly as she stepped inside, toeing off her red-and-white sneakers. The house greeted her with familiar creaking floorboards and the faint floral scent of her mom’s lilac air freshener.

“Mom? Dad?” she asked out of habit. As expected, no reply—just the distant drone of news commentary upstairs. Her father, no doubt, glued to the late-night feed.

Apricot climbed the steps toward her room, each footfall heavier now that the adrenaline had bled away. She shut her door behind her and leaned against it, letting out a slow breath.

Safe. For now.

Her room looked exactly as she’d left it—band posters lining the walls, a scatter of notes and gadgets cluttering her desk, blankets tangled on her unmade bed. Hard to believe this same space had felt suffocating last week, its shadows alive.

Tonight, it felt like a sanctuary.

She crossed to her desk and flipped open her laptop. The screen blinked awake, casting a cold blue glow across her face.

“Alright,” she whispered, steeling herself. “Let’s see what’s really going on out there.”

Her fingers flew across the keys as she dove into news feeds, forums, and the deeper corners of the net where real information sometimes slipped through. The public sites offered only a sanitized blurb about the singer’s “unfortunate death,” blaming it on a drug incident among fans. No mention of torn flesh. No cannibal frenzy.

So she dug deeper.

Less moderated spaces. Citizen-journalist hubs. Conspiracy boards.

But everywhere she turned—the same wall.

A forum thread titled “Backstage Incident?” blinked into emptiness the moment she clicked it. Refresh. There—then gone. Another site returned a stark Content Removed banner. Even older archives, usually too dusty for censors to bother with, had mysteriously clean gaps where posts should have been.

It felt like someone was sanitizing the internet in real time.

Censorship bots, she realized with cold anger. Someone high up didn’t want these pieces connected. Every vanishing link only solidified her unease.

Something’s happening. Something real. And they’re burying it.

She leaned back, rubbing her tired eyes. “Fine,” she muttered.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the desk. She picked it up—Bonni.

Apricot opened the message:

Hey girl, wanna meet up at the park? I found something I need to show you.

Apricot frowned. The park? Now?
She checked the time. Past ten. Almost eleven. The thought of going back into the night made her stomach knot. The memory of that reaper-shadow still clung to her skin, cold and raw.

Apricot typed with hesitant fingers: “It’s pretty late, Bon. The park’s gonna be empty and creepy… sure it can’t wait until morning?” She sent it, chewing at her thumb as she waited.

The reply came almost instantly:
“I know it’s late. I would’ve come to your place but I’m stuck on this side of town (train’s out). Please? It’s important. You’ll want to see it.”

Apricot’s foot tapped anxiously beneath her desk. Train’s out. So Bonni was stranded. The park was only a fifteen-minute walk—small, quiet, usually deserted after dark except for the occasional patrol. Too empty for comfort.

Still… she couldn’t leave Bonni out there alone.

She texted back: “Alright. I’ll meet you in 20. Just… don’t jump out and scare me, okay? ?￢ﾀﾝ

Bonni’s relief was immediate:
“Thank you!! I’m on the bench near the playground. See you soon!”

Apricot exhaled, pocketed her phone, and pulled on a fresh hoodie, tugging the hood up over her hair. She grabbed the small stun-gun keychain her father had made her carry—just in case—and slipped it into her pocket.

Tiptoeing downstairs, she called softly toward her parents’ room, half-hoping for an objection: “Meeting Bonni at the park for a bit!”

A sleepy murmur from her mom. Her dad snored.

Great, Apricot thought as she stepped out into the cool night, locking the door behind her.
Off I go—ghost hunting or whatever this is…

The walk to the park was torture. Her neighborhood was nothing like downtown—no neon, no crowds—just patchy streetlights and the occasional glow from living-room windows. Apricot kept her hands buried in her hoodie pockets, head turning at every sound. A cricket chirped; she flinched. Wind brushed through hedges; her pulse jumped.

It’s just your street, she told herself. You’ve walked this a thousand times.
But without daylight, everything familiar warped. Houses became looming shapes. A child’s bike abandoned on a lawn looked, at first glance, like someone crouching. Twice she spun around, certain she’d heard footsteps—only to realize it was her own, echoing, or just her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

The small park finally emerged from the darkness—a patch of green behind a low iron fence. The gate hung open. The playground lay ahead, its swing set and slide outlined in dim light. A lone streetlamp stretched the monkey bars’ shadows across the grass, twisting them into spidery shapes that clawed at the ground.

Apricot swallowed, gathered her courage, and stepped in.

Bonni sat exactly where she’d said she would: on a bench beneath a harsh white lamp. Relief washed over Apricot at the sight of her friend’s familiar silhouette. Bonni had a magazine open on her lap, flipping through it so intently she didn’t notice Apricot at first.

“Bonni,” Apricot called softly, not wanting to spook her.

Bonni looked up—and her face warmed instantly into a smile when she saw Apricot approaching.

“You came!” Bonni hopped to her feet—then paused when she saw Apricot’s pale face. “Oh, Apri, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she joked gently.

Apricot let out a shaky laugh. “It’s just… really spooky out here. Playgrounds at night? Instant nightmare fuel.” She sank onto the bench, grateful for the lamp’s cold but steady glow. From here she could see everything—empty paths, silent trees, no movement. Her shoulders loosened a fraction.

Bonni nodded, settling beside her and smoothing the magazine on her lap. “I get it. And I wouldn’t have called you out here if it wasn’t important.”

Now close enough, Apricot could read the title on the cover peeking out from Bonni’s fingers: Eerie Truths Monthly. She lifted an eyebrow. The occult tabloid was infamous—grainy photos, wild stories, the kind found in dusty magazine racks or fringe forums online.

Bonni saw her expression and gave an embarrassed grin. “I know how it looks. But there’s something in here you need to see.” She tapped the bench, and Apricot scooted closer as Bonni flipped to a bookmarked page.

Apricot pushed her hood back, hair falling around her face, and leaned in. The spread was filled with murky photos and bold, dramatic captions.

“Here,” Bonni said, pointing at a low-res image: a dark blur leaping between two buildings, the quality so bad it could’ve been a smudge. “Obviously fake—guy in a suit, bad Photoshop, whatever.”

She slid her finger to the next image—larger, clearer, far sharper.

“But this one,” she said, voice low, “came from a high-resolution security cam.”

Apricot leaned in. The second image was sharp, high-contrast black-and-white. A city skyline at night… and there, framed against the glow of office windows, hung a silhouette suspended mid-air. Human-shaped. Cloak or coat billowing. And from its head—long, unmistakable horns.

Apricot’s lungs froze.

It was him. The reaper.

Bonni didn’t notice her sudden stiffness. Taking Apricot’s silence as fascination, she pressed on. “The article calls him Claw Fingers.” She tapped the bold headline splashed under the photos: “Claw-Fingers – Urban Legend or Threat?”

“They say he’s been sighted all over the city for months,” Bonni went on, a tremor of excitement and worry threading her voice. “The first mention was two months ago, then reports started piling up. People always describe the horns, the cloak… and apparently his hand ends in these long claw-like fingers. That’s where the name comes from.”

A cold wave rolled through Apricot. Her mouth had fallen open without her realizing; she forced it shut. Seeing him in a published photo felt like confirmation—and a death sentence.

“What… what does it say about him?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes skimmed the dramatic text. Words leapt out at her like sparks:

“Pact.”
“Servitude.”
“Power in exchange for loyalty.”

Her pulse hammered. The night felt suddenly darker, as if the shadows at the edges of the park leaned in to listen.

Bonni flipped the page to an illustration of a towering figure looming over a kneeling person. “Apparently Claw Fingers offers people deals,” she said. “Classic devil’s bargain stuff. Power in exchange for serving him. What if that witch from the other day was, y’know…” She gave a shaky giggle.

She flipped back and tapped a sidebar. “And look—they’re linking him to those murders in the Ikijoji Street area. The people found slaughtered in alleys? No motive?”

A chill rippled through Apricot. Bodies found after sightings… Solenne’s words echoed sharply. Ikijoji might’ve been the same district.

“I… I might’ve heard something,” she murmured.

Bonni nodded eagerly. “Eerie Truths is all over it. They think it’s connected—maybe the victims made deals, or refused them. It’s unclear.” She exhaled. “I know it’s speculative, but with everything happening lately… Apri, it’s honestly chilling.”

Apricot’s mind churned. Horror. Fury. A sickening certainty. Seeing her nightmare confirmed—even by a tabloid—felt like the floor dropping out beneath her.

Suddenly, she stood, too fast, nearly knocking the magazine from Bonni’s hands. “Stop.”

Bonni flinched, startled. “What’s wrong?”

Apricot realized she was trembling. Bonni’s wide, worried eyes twisted a knife of guilt in her gut. Bonni wasn’t trying to frighten her—she’d been trying to help.

Apricot forced a breath, trying to level her voice. “Bonni… you have to stop reading this stuff.” She gestured sharply at the magazine. “It’s just feeding your imagination. Listen to what you’re saying—devil bargains? Witches? It’s… it’s crazy.”

Bonni’s face fell. She slowly closed the magazine. “Apri, I thought you—”

Apricot cut her off, the words spilling out in a mix of fear and exhaustion. “I can’t deal with this, okay? It’s terrifying. And I walk near Ikijoji Street almost every night—you know that. I have to live here. I have classes, work… I’m trying to stay sane, and I can’t keep jumping at shadows.” Her voice wavered, dangerously close to breaking. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how cold the night felt. “This past week’s already been too much. I’m barely sleeping, I’m messing up at school, and now you want me to believe—”
She choked on the rest.

Silence settled heavily between them. A lone car whispered past on a distant road. The streetlamp hummed faintly.

Bonni rose slowly, regret tightening her features. “Apri… I’m sorry.” She rested a hand on Apricot’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to freak you out more. I just thought you’d want to know.”

Apricot’s anger evaporated, leaving only fatigue and a dull ache in her chest. She closed her eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.” She exhaled shakily. “It’s just… a lot.” Opening her eyes, she managed a faint smile. “You know I appreciate you, Bonbon.”

Bonni’s lips curved at the old nickname. “It’s okay. I did get carried away. Seeing you like this… maybe it’s best to drop the creepy stuff for now.” She pulled Apricot into a gentle hug. Apricot hugged back, grateful for the familiar warmth.

When they separated, Bonni looked around the empty park and forced a lighter tone. “Anyway, it’s stupid late. We should go before some rent-a-cop thinks we’re dealing contraband.”

Apricot almost laughed. She’d forgotten how eerie the park was until Bonni mentioned it. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

They gathered their things, Bonni tucking the magazine under her arm, and started toward the gate together.

At the park entrance, under the washed-out orange glow of the streetlights, Bonni pulled Apricot into one last hug. “Text me when you get home, okay? And seriously—try to sleep. Don’t stay up reading creepy stuff.”

Apricot managed a faint smile. “You too. No more monster magazines tonight.”

Bonni laughed. “Scout’s honor.”
She hesitated, as if weighing something unsaid, then simply patted Apricot’s arm. “Stay safe, Apri.”

“You too, Bonbon.”

They split at the gate—Bonni heading down one side of the quiet street, her silhouette shrinking into shadow, and Apricot taking the opposite path toward home. The night seemed even stiller now, almost breathless.

Apricot wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. Bonni had given her answers—just not the kind that eased anything. If anything, her mind churned with more questions, more dread, and the echo of long, horned shadows moving where they shouldn’t be.