Hidden behind a row of metal crates, his head feels heavy.

  His hearing fractured.

  The gunshot was not just a sound.

  It pierced his ear and left behind a sharp ringing—a continuous punishment.

  He cannot hear their words.

  Only mouths moving.

  Hands gesturing.

  Cruelty etched into faces.

  Seconds pass.

  Or longer.

  The ringing weakens.

  Sound returns from a distance.

  He catches one word clearly:

  A deal.

  The neighbor speaks, his voice shaking.

  "I'm sorry. You didn't give us enough time."

  The older man—the one who feels like the leader—does not respond.

  He only looks.

  Then he draws the gun.

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  A shot.

  The other man falls without a sound.

  Erebus freezes.

  He does not scream.

  He does not move.

  Time itself seems to pause, as if acknowledging how easily death occurs.

  The leader speaks coldly:

  "If the deal isn't ready by tomorrow... you know what happens."

  The neighbor nods violently.

  "Yes. Yes. I understand."

  His face is stained with something no human face should carry on an ordinary night.

  They leave as they entered.

  No chaos.

  No hesitation.

  Erebus is left alone, breathing unevenly.

  Do I have to do the same?

  The thought does not arrive as rage—

  but as fear disguised as philosophy.

  Old images surface.

  Ground.

  A body.

  Silence.

  He whispers, barely audible:

  "It's okay... everything will be fine."

  Not to calm himself.

  But to force his body to move.

  Then he justifies it:

  "At least... the plan will proceed as planned."

  He puts on the mask.

  Secures the knife at his left side.

  Moves forward.

  One step.

  Then another.

  His foot nudges a plastic funnel on the floor.

  A small sound.

  Enough.

  The neighbor stops.

  "I warn you—I have weapons."

  Erebus swallows.

  Says nothing.

  "Show yourself! Wherever you are!"

  He steps out of the shadows.

  Silence.

  The neighbor stares.

  "Erebus...?"

  His eyes drop to the knife.

  Understanding settles.

  He runs.

  Erebus follows—his body moving faster than his idea of himself.

  The neighbor reaches a second-floor window.

  Hesitates.

  Then jumps.

  Erebus rushes downstairs.

  The man is alive.

  Broken.

  Twisted.

  Breathing in pain.

  And Erebus sees the cat.

  The same unnatural angle.

  The same helplessness.

  The same ending approaching.

  He steps closer.

  "Who was that man? Why did he kill your partner? Why are you doing this... when you have a life?"

  "Please... don't."

  "Answer first."

  The neighbor speaks of the gang.

  The money.

  The city that offers no mercy.

  Erebus is silent.

  Then he says:

  "I'll help you."

  The neighbor's face loosens.

  Erebus steps closer.

  His body is calm—

  but his heart beats with an unfamiliar force.

  "Th—"

  The word never finishes.

  Steel enters quietly.

  No scream.

  Only warmth spreading across his hand.

  "Why...? You said you'd help me..."

  Erebus leans close and whispers:

  "If I saved you, nothing would change.

  You might turn me in.

  You might do this again.

  I don't trust anyone anymore."

  He lets go.

  He stands alone.

  In the place where he decided that justice

  would no longer be asked for—

  but taken.