2001, February 22.

  The rain hit the pavement in soft, rhythmic taps, masking the distant wail of sirens. Seong-Hwan barely noticed. He stood in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, his breath curling in the frigid air. The city was restless tonight. So was he.

  "She’s alone."

  The voice slithered into his thoughts, smooth as a whisper but heavy as a command. It had been with him for as long as he could remember.

  "Go on. You know what to do."

  Seong-Hwan's fingers tightened around the handle of the umbrella. Across the street, a woman walked briskly, her heels clicking against the wet pavement. He could not see her face, only the curve of her neck, the way her coat clung to her shoulders.

  "She doesn’t matter. None of them do. But if you do this… you’re one step closer."

  Closer to what?

  He did not know. He never knew. But every time he listened; the voice fed him another promise. And he was tired—so, so tired—of the emptiness that swallowed him when he did not obey.

  exhaled slowly, stepping off the curb.

  Tonight, he would listen. Seong-Hwan's breath came in short, sharp gasps as he closed the distance between himself and the woman. The damp night air clung to his skin, heavy with the scent of rain. She barely had time to turn before he drove the knife into her side.

  A gasp. A choked scream.

  He felt the blade sink deep, cutting through fabric and flesh. Her body jerked violently as he stabbed again, and again, each motion quick and precise. The warmth of her blood splattered against his hands, staining his sleeves in dark, glistening streaks. She collapsed against him, her weight pressing against his chest for a moment before sliding to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

  Silence.

  "What do I do now?" Seong-Hawn whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

  "Shh... go sink her body in the lake," the voice cooed, smooth and reassuring. "I'll make sure the police never find you, okay? I promise...you will see...”

  The promise wrapped around his mind like silk, easing the rapid thudding in his chest. He swallowed hard and nodded to no one in particular.

  Working quickly, he dragged the woman’s body to his car, glancing around to ensure the streets were still empty. The world felt eerily still, as if the city itself were watching, waiting. He popped the trunk, shoved her lifeless form inside, and slammed it shut, the dull thud echoing in his ears.

  The drive to the lake felt longer than usual. The radio crackled softly, but he didn’t dare turn it on. Instead, he listened to the rhythmic patter of rain against the windshield, his fingers tapping anxiously on the steering wheel.

  When he finally arrived, the lake stretched before him, dark and endless, the surface barely rippling under the night sky. He pulled the body from the trunk, his hands slick with sweat and blood. He had come prepared—just as the voice had told him to. A rope, a cinder block.

  He tied the weight around her ankles, his fingers trembling slightly as he secured the knot. The voice whispered softly in his ear, urging him on, telling him he was doing the right thing. That this was all leading to something greater.

  With one final heave, he pushed the body into the water.

  The splash was deafening in the quiet night. He watched as the woman sank, disappearing beneath the surface, swallowed whole by the abyss. A few bubbles rose, then nothing.

  Silence again.

  "Good," the voice murmured approvingly. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

  “She was dressed like a slut anyway. She deserved it for being such a slut in that dress.” Seong-Hwan mutters to himself, smirking slightly.

  Seong-Hwan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. The weight of what he had done pressed against his chest, but the voice... the voice made it bearable.

  "Just keep listening to me," it hummed. "And soon, everything will be perfect."

  He turned back to his car, never noticing the faint ripples still spreading across the lake. Seong-Hwan grins, his lips curling upward as he relishes the moment, savoring the raw power coursing through him. There’s a twisted sense of satisfaction in his actions, in the sheer brutality of it all. His breath comes in steady, controlled exhales, his eyes gleaming with a dark thrill.

  Then, piercing through the haze of his thoughts, the voice returns—smooth, insidious, wrapping around his mind like a serpent.

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  "Good... very good. Soon, you'll have the life you've always dreamed of," it purrs, the words dripping with promise. "Tell me, Seong-Hwan... what is it that you truly desire?"

  The question lingers in the air, settling over him like a weight. He pauses, his grin faltering just slightly as he tilts his head in thought. Then, with a casual shrug, he responds, his tone laced with both amusement and certainty.

  "Well... I’d have to give that some thought," he muses, though his answer is already forming. "I know one thing for sure—I want to be rich. Filthy rich. Money so vast I never have to worry about a damn thing again.” He lets the thought settle before adding with a chuckle, “And, of course, a wife to cook me dinner every night. A perfect little wife waiting at home, just for me.”

  His grin returns, wider this time. Yes, that life sounds just perfect. Seong-Hwan returns home, his mind devoid of guilt, his heart undisturbed by the horrors he orchestrated. He slips into bed with ease, the weight of his actions failing to trouble his sleep. The darkness of the night wraps around him like a familiar embrace, and soon he is lost in a deep slumber, untouched by conscience.

  Why should he care? He was going to benefit from this, after all. A few lives lost—what did that matter in the grand scheme of things? Their faces, their screams, their final moments—they were insignificant details. He had already moved on.

  A sudden blaring noise shatters the silence, his alarm blaring louder than it ever had before. The digits on the clock read 6:00 AM, glowing eerily in the dim light of dawn. He groans, rubbing his temples as a wave of nausea crashes over him. His stomach churns, his throat tightening. Not from guilt, no, but from something deeper, something physical. His head spins, his vision swims—everything in his home looks slightly... off. The walls seem to warp and breathe, the air feels heavier, pressing down on him like an invisible force.

  He stumbles out of bed, gripping the edge of his nightstand for support, and rushes to the bathroom. Dropping to his knees in front of the toilet, he vomits violently, his body convulsing. "Fuck!" he gasps, his voice hoarse. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still trembling, and forces himself to his feet. His muscles feel weak, his body unsteady.

  Then he looks up—

  —and his reflection is missing.

  His breath catches in his throat. The mirror is intact, pristine even, but it does not show him. Only the empty bathroom stares back. "W-w-what?" he stammers, stepping closer, his fingers trembling as they reach out toward the glass. Nothing. No reflection. His pulse pounds in his ears as an icy dread sink into his bones.

  His legs feel like lead as he staggers into the living room, where everything seems eerily unfamiliar. The furniture is the same, but the atmosphere is... wrong. It’s like his home exists in a different plane of reality, subtly twisted and hollow. Then he sees them—his parents, seated on the couch, crying softly.

  His heart lurches.

  "Mom? Dad?" His voice cracks, raw and disbelieving. He hasn't seen them in years. His father sits hunched over, face buried in his hands, while his mother trembles beside him. He reaches out, desperate to feel their presence, to confirm their reality—but his hand passes right through his mother's shoulder like mist dispersing in the air.

  "Hello!? Answer me!" he pleads, panic creeping into his voice.

  The crying stops abruptly.

  Both parents lift their heads, turning to face him in eerie unison. Their faces stretch into wide, unnatural grins, their eyes hollow and lifeless. A sickening chill washes over him.

  Then his mother slams her head against the wall. Again. And again. The dull thud reverberates through the room, her skull cracking open, blood smearing across the wallpaper. His father, now grinning ear to ear, begins clawing at his own face, peeling away flesh as if it were nothing more than a mask.

  "STOP! Why are you doing this!?" Seong-Hwan screams, his voice raw with terror. He lunges forward to stop them, but again, his hands go straight through their bodies, grasping at nothing.

  A dreadful realization dawns upon him.

  This is not real.

  He stumbles backward, chest heaving, and bolts toward the door. Throwing it open, he dashes into the city streets, breathless and desperate. "I need help! Someone help!" he cries, his voice cracking in hysteria.

  But no one reacts.

  Pedestrians move as if he doesn’t exist, their faces blank, their eyes glazed over. Then, as if triggered by some unseen force, they all stop. Everything stops. Cars freeze in place, birds hang motionless in the sky, even the wind ceases to stir.

  And then, as one, the people turn toward him. Their heads tilt unnaturally, and their mouths curl into identical, grotesque smiles.

  Seong-Hwan’s breath catches. A suffocating silence blankets the city, pressing against his skull, ringing in his ears.

  “WHAT IS THIS PLACE!? YOU’RE CRAZY! HELP!” he screams, his voice breaking under the weight of his fear.

  No one answers. No one moves. They just stare, grinning, frozen in uncanny unity.

  His pulse roars like a drum in his ears. His knees threaten to buckle. The world around him twists, his vision darkening at the edges.

  Then, in a single instant, they all take a step toward him.

  And they keep smiling.

  Suddenly, a deep, guttural laugh echoes through the void, the sound reverberating inside his skull. It’s familiar, yet foreign, as if it has been with him all along.

  "Why are you laughing? What’s going on...?" Seong-Hwan stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. Terror grips his chest like a vice, making it hard to breathe.

  The voice chuckles again, a slow, mocking sound. "Just look around, Seong-Hwan..."

  The city around him begins to dissolve, buildings, streets, and people melting away into an endless black void. Seong-Hwan turns frantically, his surroundings slipping into nothingness, leaving only himself and the voice.

  "This isn’t real," the voice coos, almost playfully.

  His breath comes in ragged gasps. His knees hit the unseen ground, and for the first time in his miserable life, tears stream down his face. He’s never felt so small, so utterly powerless.

  The voice bursts into laughter, louder, more menacing. "This whole world is just fake."

  Darkness engulfs everything. There is no city. No people. No escape.

  Only the voice.

  "D-d-did you l-lie to me?" Seong-Hwan stutters, his entire body shaking.

  The laughter grows deafening, consuming every space in his mind.

  Then, the voice lowers, a whisper slithering into his ear.

  "Lie to you?" it sneers. "Oh, Seong-Hwan… this was never a promise. This was your fate. You were always meant to be here."

  A heavy silence follows before the voice speaks again, its words dripping with cruel amusement.

  "Welcome to Hell."

  Seong-Hwan’s screams are swallowed by the void.