Prologue.
~ A Stranger ~
The person opens their eyes, but it’s of no use—nothing can be seen. It is pitch black. The person tries blinking a few times—once, twice, three times—but it makes no difference.
Just the same darkness. Nothing else.
Wait, though...
Did I survive? the person wonders, attempting to stand up.
Feeling the cold floor, they conclude that they are, in all likelihood, still inside the house. The place that destroyed everything. The place that brought everything to an end.
Have I ever survived before? Probably not. I’ve never been any good at that. Never. And yet, now... I...
Suddenly, as the person tries to push themselves up, their fingers brush against something. Something cold... with an odd shape. Yet, somehow, it feels familiar.
The person frowns.
What the hell is this? they wonder, trying to examine the object they’ve just discovered.
For one thing, it’s difficult—the object is so cold that one instinctively recoils from touching it further. For another, it’s... illogical. Perhaps...
Just as the person is about to give up, a brilliant—yet truly chilling—thought flashes through their mind.
"Oh, God," the person whispers under their breath. In a split second, every memory of everything comes flooding back, and for a moment, the poor wretch thinks it would have been better to die than to suffer here like this.
Because he finally realizes what he has done.
"Shit, anything but this..." he mutters, unintelligible words spilling from his lips.
He swallows hard.
Shivering from the onslaught of memories—which wash over him like a surging sea, threatening to drown him—he lets the object slip from his grasp.
The metal strikes the floor with a sharp, jarring clang—a sound so piercing it momentarily clouds his mind. In that brief instant, he might have forgotten everything—but no, he remembers it all. Every single detail...
Suddenly, out of the blue, a loud hum erupts, and the lights flicker a few times before bathing the entire room in a harsh glow.
The full scene is revealed, and with it, a sense of pure evil. The man recoils at what he sees, yet he knows—deep down—that this is his own doing. He knows that it was because of him that things ended this way.
Needing to confirm that this isn't a lie, he glances toward the spot where the object should have been.
And... he sees it.
The rifle lies there, undisturbed—as if it had never been touched—positioned perfectly. Why perfect...?
Reluctantly, he shifts his gaze to follow the direction the rifle’s barrel is pointing. And what he sees next makes him retch.
Right beside him—very close—lies another human being.
Covered in blood.
Lifeless.
Someone did this... someone killed this person, he thinks, filled with revulsion.
Yet, he understands everything perfectly well. He knows whose handiwork this is.
It is his own.
I killed him... I shot him. And I am the last one left alive... That means... I won.
For the first time in his life.
This.
Man... has won.
