Haruto's last memory was simple: sitting at his desk, staring at a blank screen in his office. It was an ordinary day, no different from any other. He had no reason to think anything would change.
Then, everything went dark.
When he woke up, something was wrong.
The first thing he noticed was the smell—blood. Thick and heavy, filling the air.
The second thing? His body. His new body. It wasn't his. The man in the cracked mirror staring back at him had a face he didn't recognize—someone older, worn, with eyes that looked like they had seen too much. His skin felt rough, his muscles tight with tension.
Something wasn't right. His heartbeat felt strange, like it was out of sync with the rest of him.
Where am I?
Haruto stood up, feeling a wave of dizziness. The room around him was cold, its walls made of rusted metal. Pipes ran along the floor, hissing quietly. A large clock hung on the wall, its hands frozen at midnight. The room was dimly lit, and the air was thick, heavy. It felt like time itself had stopped here.
What happened?
His head was foggy, and his memories felt fractured. He didn't remember how he got here, or why he felt so... wrong. The only thing he knew was that this place felt like it didn't belong in the world he knew.
A small piece of paper lay on the floor, half-hidden under a broken chair. Haruto picked it up, his fingers brushing against it like it didn't belong to him. The note was simple, almost too simple:
"You are not who you were. Time is broken."
Before Haruto could process it, the world around him seemed to shift. A strange noise filled the room—like the ticking of a clock. At first, it was faint, almost inaudible. But then it grew louder, like it was coming from all directions. It was in his head, in the walls, in the air.
A voice, low and distant, echoed from the shadows.
"You don't belong here."
Haruto froze, his breath catching in his throat. He couldn't see anyone, but the voice spoke again, its tone colder this time.
"Your heart is not yours. Your soul is not yours. You've taken someone else's life."
Haruto's chest tightened. His mind raced. He didn't know what this voice meant. But something deep inside him felt like it was true. His memories were mixed with someone else's, memories of violence and blood.
He shook his head, trying to focus. The ticking noise grew louder still, the sound almost deafening now. It was as if the very room was alive, shifting with the rhythm of the clock.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped.
The voice spoke one last time, its words clear and cold.
"You'll be hunted for this."
Haruto's heart pounded. He didn't know who was hunting him or why. But the fear gnawed at him. He had to get out of here, find answers. He moved toward the door, but his thoughts kept racing.
What was going on?
As he stepped outside, the world felt off. The air was stale, the buildings around him were old and decaying, and the streets were eerily quiet. Nothing seemed right, but nothing was wrong, either. Everything seemed frozen in time, like it was waiting for something to happen.
The city wasn't broken yet, but something felt... off. Like a clock that had started ticking too slowly.
And Haruto knew—he was somehow caught in the middle of it.