He hadn't heard a voice in days. Maybe weeks.
The only sound inside Knight Muetsukashi's apartment was the soft crinkle of plastic wrappers and the low hum of his unplugged monitor cooling in death. His curtains were sealed shut with pitch black tape, creating an artificial darkness in his room for his sleep deprived eyes. His bed was a futon he hadn't unfolded in months.
Then—bang.
A sharp thud from outside his house.
Knight didn't move. At first, he thought he imagined it. But it came again—louder this time. Something heavy struck metal followed with a low unintelligible gruff..
And then a sound that cut clean through memory and media and fiction:
The sound of something wet tearing.
Like biting into a fruit, but thicker. Softer.
The fleshy noise
Annoyed at the sounds that were disturbing his daily gaming session, Knight stood.
His body moved on its own. He padded across the floor, avoiding wrappers. He hadn't eaten today. Or yesterday.
The door was cold to the touch.
He opened it an inch.
Walking down the hallway to his front door, the loud thudding loudened.
As he pushed his metal door open, he turned to the right and went into the dark alleyway the sound was originating from.
One man lay on the floor, face-down. A pool of blood widened beneath him in real-time—spilling thick, dark, too fast.
Another man stood over him, taller, gloved, holding something metal in one hand.
Knight gasped.
It wasn't loud. Just a breath. A startled intake of air.
But the man turned.
And their eyes met.
Noticing the killing intent on the man's eyes, he quickly turned around to leave.
Too slow.
The man dashed towards him, gloved hand gripping his hoodie and throwing him backward.
His skull hit the corner of something cold and hard.
It was then followed with a hot pain on his sides. Something cold dug into his flesh as crimson liquid sprayed out of his sides.
Screaming in pain, his knees gave out.
The man said nothing. He rummaged, stepped over him and quickly fled.
Knight lay on the floor, bleeding into the cold asphalt floor. His hands twitched, but he didn't call for help.
He didn't even reach for his phone. As he knew this was the end fate had planned for him.
The pain felt… distant. Like watching something happen to someone else.
Feeling his white t shirt slowly turning red to his own blood, he thought of Suzumi.
Her last text.
"I'll come over after cram school, okay? Please eat something. I'll bring your favorite."
That was a week ago. Maybe two. He never responded.
He was never able to do much for his family or what remained of it.
He thought of his mother, how she'd smiled with her eyes closed the day before she died.
How his father never came home from Singapore.
How his younger sister Suzumi, always made him breakfast and dinner and left it in front of his room which he had always ignored.
And then he thought of nothing.
It wasn't fear nor regret
Just a floating thought, almost funny:
"At least Suzumi's going to be living easier"
His vision flickered.
And he let go.