Mike — 99... What am I doing here... What was that? A bad dream? A nightmare?
He stood there, frozen in front of the door, staring at it in deep dismay. Fear, doubt... fear, doubt! These two feelings were overwhelming him. His breathing grew erratic.
Voice? — Re... gain... control... I kn...ow what this repre...sents for... you, but you must...!
He didn't seem to be listening — but was he even hearing it?
His head was pounding louder and louder. The only thing he could perceive was a shrill noise that amplified his mental state. The more he heard it, the more his head hurt. And the more it hurt, the louder it became. A vicious loop.
Now he was on the ground, clutching his ears.
It might've looked like he was overreacting to nothing. But to him, it struck deep — to the very core of his being.
His being?
Who was he, really?
Just a lost boy in a place he didn't recognize?
He didn't even know what he was doing there, nor how he'd gotten there...
But what he had just seen stirred up too many memories. Memories he would rather have forgotten.
Forgotten? But hadn't he forgotten everything upon arriving in this world?
Voice? — CALM DOWN!
With that scream echoing in his mind, everything suddenly went silent.
The shrill noise vanished, and the headache faded… though not entirely. He finally gathered the strength to stand up again.
Mike — Thank you... I need to rest a bit...
He set down his bag and sat, back against the door.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
He stood up after a long while, having stared into the emptiness before him.
He looked at the door again, hesitant. He would've liked to stay seated there. But he had no real choice. He had to keep going.
He pushed the door. Nothing had changed. As always, the door vanished once he passed through it.
He took a few steps toward the apartment where he'd seen the silhouette, then entered, struggling slightly.
On the table, he saw a stack of envelopes.
He looked at them in surprise, then approached.
Mike — What are these doing here?
The names on the envelopes were unreadable, but he knew who they were for. And why...
Voice? — Those are your parents' old bills, aren't they?
Mike — Yeah... That's them. The unpaid ones... Utilities... Debts...
As he reached out his hands, the envelopes fell and scattered on the floor… even though he hadn't touched them.
Mike — What's going on...?
He bent down to pick them up. But his hands passed right through.
Voice? — It's just a memory. You probably can't interact with it.
Indeed, he could only watch them lying on the floor in silence.
But a sound broke that silence.
Mike — A ringtone? Here? In this place?
He heard an old, muffled ringtone echoing.
It was getting closer. He looked around... but nothing. No device, no object.
Voice? — There, on the table!
An object started to appear.
Voice? — It's a landline phone.
A landline phone was ringing.
Mike tried to pick it up, but his hand went right through it.
Mike — Another untouchable thing!
The ringing stopped, replaced by a man's voice. In his thirties? Forties?
Man on the phone — Hello Mr. and Mrs. "__", as usual, you're not answering. It's really getting tiring, haha. You owe us money. You promised to pay, and you keep running away. I might just send my guys over. You live at "__" on "__" street, right? Easy to find. I know you don't care much about your kid, but you'd better take good care of him. Haha beep beep
As the last beeps faded out, the message ended.
Mike slowly stepped back... and grabbed his knife.
Mike — What the hell was that...?!
He barely had time to think...
The silhouette was there again, staring at him.
Mother? — So, you heard it all… You were never supposed to know!
She gestured wildly as she spoke.
Mother? — Look at the floor! I told you not to touch the mail, it's not for you! Unless you can pay all this off? This is your father's fault!
Each word hit hard — raw, cold, without compassion.
She kept coming closer, ranting.
Voice? — Stay calm. Don't worry, she can't harm you.
Mike — Yeah... Thanks, it's hard... but I'll try.
He remained calm. He refused to be swept away by emotion.
Mother? — Talking to yourself again? Did I really give birth to a lunatic?
Just like the armor earlier... she couldn't hear the Voice?
So Mike was the only one who could.
Mother? — Useless? Lazy? I've been taking care of you since you were born! 14 years wasted on you!
Her words echoed in his mind.
But one sentence stood out.
Mike — 14 years? But I'm 16…
He was sure of it. So why did she say less?
Because in the end, this was just a fragment of the past? A warped memory? A buried echo?
He thought about it, troubled.
Then, in a moment of distraction, she touched him.
But… she wasn't supposed to be able to…
He didn't have time to react.
??? — We've done it once! We can do it again, right?
From that moment, he lost control of his body.
The knife in his hand stabbed the silhouette in the chest.
Again. And again. Brutal, uncontrolled blows. His hand finally dropped the weapon. In front of him, she collapsed with a heavy crash.
When he regained control of himself, he could only fall to his knees.
Unable to understand. Unable to speak, except to repeat the same words…
Mike — No... I didn't kill her?! It wasn't me... It wasn't me... Not...
Images of his mother flashed through his mind.
The trauma surged back. Tears streamed down his face.
An overwhelming sadness crushed him.
He blinked slowly under the weight of his tears.
And once again… he was standing in front of a door.