Chapter 9

Masahiro slowly opened his eyes, completely disoriented. He weakly lifted his head: his vision was still blurry, and he felt dazed, as if he had just woken up from anesthesia."Lisa... I... I had a terrible nightmare..." he whispered. His voice was faint, his body exhausted.

Then the nauseating smell of the house returned, assaulting him once again, and gradually, awareness began to creep in. He hadn't woken from a nightmare—he was still there.Lying on the cold, filthy, sticky kitchen floor, he realized he had no idea how he had ended up back in that place. He didn't even know how long he had been unconscious.

He struggled to sit up, bracing himself with a trembling arm against what used to be the stovetop. His head was spinning. Nausea clutched his stomach like a vice. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and dragged himself toward the fridge.

The stench of rot hit his nostrils like a slap—so strong it brought tears to his eyes and made him retch.I'm weak... I-I need... t-to eat, he thought.

Mustering his strength, he opened the fridge with a trembling hand. What he saw, however, was anything but reassuring.The food inside was unrecognizable—not just spoiled, but mutated. Swollen, mushy stuff covered in greenish blisters. He couldn't even tell what it had originally been. But it was all there was.

One hand clutched the fridge door, while with the other he grabbed one of the shapeless masses. He stared at it for a long time, as if searching for an excuse not to eat it. But there were none: it was either that... or starvation.

He brought the piece to his mouth and bit into it. The substance was slimy, soft, disgusting. Every jaw movement made him gag. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to vomit, lifting his chin in hopes that gravity would do the rest.With immense effort, he managed to swallow the bite. He tossed the rest back into the fridge and slammed the door shut."What the hell..." he hissed.

He staggered to the living room. He could already feel the food moving inside him like a punch to the gut. He leaned over, bracing himself with a tense arm on a shred of the old family couch.

Then, a vibration.Next to him.The phone.

He turned abruptly and grabbed it hungrily. He didn't remember bringing it with him. Nor taking it out of his pockets.And now that he thought about it—he wasn't even wearing his own clothes.He had on only a pair of cotton shorts and a dirty tank top he didn't even remember owning. In fact, he was almost certain he never had clothes like that.

He looked at the screen.A message.Lisa.

A surge of hope rushed through him—he tapped the message instantly, but what was written was incomprehensible."?@#@&>=[=_[*@ ÷?[=/[,#÷%>!,#!=/÷,÷" read the message."W-what... Lisa..."He quickly tapped on her contact and tried to make a call, but of course—there was no signal in that house, and the call didn't even start.