The soft wind stirred, carrying the fresh scent of grass across Xevera's quiet streets. Wispy clouds drifted zily across the blue sky—a perfect day by any account. Mitsu took it in with a distant gaze, though; days like these didn't matter to him much anymore. As a child, he'd been outgoing enough, easy to please. But since hitting his growth spurt, everything felt different. He'd pulled away from the world around him, brushing off his "friends" and choosing solitude over company. People called him moody, a loner, but Mitsu didn't care. Solitude suited him—he didn't have to pretend or expin himself.
But today was different. Today, he found himself, once again, caught up in a scheme with the very people he avoided. Led by Joshua, their self-procimed ringleader, the group pnned a visit to an old manor that loomed at the edge of town, abandoned for decades. Rumor had it that the house once served as a safe zone for wounded soldiers during the Second World War, and local legends said the spirits of the fallen still wandered its halls.
As they stood at the manor's gates, Joshua issued the challenge: enter the manor, explore it, and whoever turned back first would face relentless teasing from the others. Mitsu gnced at the group. Part of him wanted to walk away, to ignore this childish dare. But it's far too te to chicken out now.
"Alright, let's get this over with," Mitsu muttered, masking any hint of nerves behind a disinterested shrug. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn bck denim pants, his gaze fixed on the decaying entrance ahead. The others paused, gncing at each other in surprise, maybe expecting him to hesitate. But Mitsu barely waited for them. With a steady pace, he stepped toward the manor's doors, the wood creaking as he pushed them open.
The air inside was heavy, filled with the smell of damp wood and rot, and a shiver of cold seemed to spill from the darkness. Mitsu's eyes adjusted as he took in the peeling wallpaper, the faded remnants of what was once a grand hall.
The others stayed close, whispering nervously as they followed him into the creepy hallways, their footsteps muffled by dust and debris. Mitsu ignored them, his attention focused on the stillness of the abandoned manor. Every creak and groan of the old structure seemed amplified, each shadow deeper and more intimidating.
The group soon split up, each daring the other to explore different rooms. Mitsu moved quietly down a narrow corridor, ignoring the others' muffled ughter in the distance. A strange chill crept over him as he continued, the air thickening, the silence pressing in. His footsteps echoed, the sound bouncing off empty walls and dim, musty corners. Then, down a hallway to his left, he noticed faint voices.
Curiosity piqued, he edged toward the sound, rounding a corner and stepping into a dimly lit room. That's when he froze. The faint flicker of a lighter illuminated a group of men slouched on tattered couches and broken chairs. Their faces were hollow and sunken, eyes red-rimmed and gzed over—people who had long lost any sense of home or comfort. Empty bottles and needles littered the floor.
One of them turned, his bloodshot eyes narrowing at Mitsu. "Hey... who the hell are you?" he snarled, voice slurred but sharp with suspicion. Mitsu's heart dropped, realizing his mistake too te. He was in their space, their hideaway—and they didn't look like they'd let him leave without a price.
Backing away slowly, Mitsu held up his hands, trying to look harmless. But the tension snapped when one of them lunged forward, grabbing him by the colr. Mitsu struggled, his voice catching as he yelled for help. But his friends were too far—or maybe they'd already run. A sharp blow to his stomach made him double over, and soon, fists, boots, and something cold and hard—a gun—beat against him mercilessly.
Pain consumed him, his vision blurring as he hit the floor, struggling to breathe. The st thing he saw before everything went dark was the flickering light of that damn lighter.
