I took a long breath, feeling its as it frays a cold passage through my lunges. My brain, too overwhelmed to process the nonsense my wide eyes are transmitting, gave up and stopped thinking altogether.

I raised my arm and the unknown man on the window glass moved along, doing all a good and law-abiding reflection should be doing, mirroring the mirrored movements. I nodded and it nodded back.

What in the Bloody Merry of bullshit is this?

A disturbing feeling sprouted out in my chest as I bought my hand to my face, roaming the sharp features with my fingers. Touching the short, prickly stubble, the straight nose, and lips, the eyebrow above dark blue eyes. Swiftly removing the bomber hat to expose ash-blonde hair. All of a sudden the warm clothes I am wearing aren't warm anymore.

This isn't my face.

I checked myself once more, my limbs, skin, and body, and I even had to remove the coat and lift my shirt in order to locate the surgery scar, but nothing.

This isn't Bloody Marry type of bullshit, this is Buddha type of bullshit.

Even if I had undergone some extremely advanced face transplant, there was still no way of explaining the height growth, skin tone, and most notably, lack of scars. Regardless of how far cosmetic surgery technology has progressed, it is still not capable of completely changing a person without leaving any traces.

Which makes things even more absurd.

The early twenties guy reflected by the glass window is... me. I can feel and move like I ever did, hell, I wouldn't have noticed any difference if not for the reflection.

Am I now a different person or how does that work? Is this some supernatural phenomenon or is it just a dream? But I quickly removed the dream possibility. If I were dreaming, simply asking that question would induce a lucid dream and cause me to instinctively know the answer, which in this case is a no, I am not dreaming.

And if you had the option of dreaming in your list of possibilities, then all the other choices after that are either ridiculous or foolish.

Which led me to the ridiculous option... Transmigration.

When the soul goes from one body to another after death. It's a spiritual belief hence no proof of it happening was ever recorded considering it's extremely complicated to assess anything of such a supernatural level without being considered crazy. No one in their right mind will believe anyone who claims to be Van Gogh in their previous life, of course, that didn't prevent some people from doing such claims.

However, it got quite the popularity in fantasy and science fiction works, especially in the east, which loves such a trope. It's usually accompanied by getting transported...

All thought halted abruptly, hands darted to the tattered piece of paper. The newspaper sheet. My eyes furiously scan every readable word, letter, or symbol, trying to find sense in every formed sentence while I pray my guess will not prove true.

[ --The Empire sent 5000 soldiers to Wholto's border. A clear message from the Crown prince to the Democratic Republic Welvia--]

[ --The death of the republican activist Albert B. Reelt is not an accident declare Remi-- ]

[--Obscure signals caught by the WSA, "It may affect our satellites and communication outlets" scientists remark--]

All strength was sucked away.

Alien.

I wanted to laugh, I felt my eyes heating, my mind in shamble. This isn't my world, not my body, not my life...my life, my simple life is gone, almost thirty years, it wasn't the most fulfilling or joyful but it was mine, I built it from nothing, all the things I had to go through to maintain it, alone. I don't even remember dying; perhaps if I had, it would be easier to accept this reality.

The reality of living as an impostor. I don't even know this body's name, he must have a family, a friend, a love, ambitions... should I live as him?

"...Alone yet again." I said, an unfamiliar sound leaving my mouth and echoing in the empty room.

I sighed as I looked up at the dark wooden ceiling of the room. For a few seconds, I just stared up at it, I let my mind wander before sighing again.

I did it once and I can do it again. There is no choice here.

Besides I'm still not out of the danger. I don't need to experiment with it to know this body, even from another world or alternate reality, has basic needs, and it...I can die like any other human. Therefore, time to accept reality is a luxury to have, when I am in an uncertain situation. And given that having a change of body isn't enough to consider suicide; I better start moving.

I got up from the chair, not remembering when I sat. Except for the axe which I kept in my hand for quick use, I stowed everything in my pocket, including the newspaper. The coat's many pockets prove its usefulness in these circumstances. Giving the room a last glance before exiting and closing the door.

Instantly the cold air hits me, causing me to shiver. The fog had lifted enough for me to see the road trails that I had missed earlier. the melted snow left the paths somewhat muddy and sludgy. A road. Two opposite directions, both disappearing into fog and trees. My choice wasn't hard with the fresh footprint on the mud. I strode with steady steps, almost not feeling the pain from my sprained ankle. If my guess is correct then this road will also get me around the cliff.

The smell of damp moss and wet tree trunks filled that air contrasting the old wood scent confined in the cabin; I could do without the coldness, however. The trees are denser in this part of the forest, making it difficult for snow to pass through, which explains why the ground, while muddy, is not slippery. Which was fortunate since my mind was wandering elsewhere. However much I want to focus on the priority, I can't shake the mush and mixed turmoils eating at me, the shock, sadness, anxiety, irritation, feelings of unreality, excitement, and relief. Relief that my bundle the exhausting boulder I've been carrying all along was finally removed from my back.

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Why?

Why me?

Who? Is there even a 'who'? God? The Devil? Or some other cosmic entity?

Or is it a supernatural phenomenon with no real intent or purpose behind it?

While enigmatic questions kept pushing me from one unpleasant feeling to another, A tense feeling suddenly pulled me back from those thoughts. A shiver runs through my skin. I looked around, eyes darting left and right, puzzled as to where the uneasiness come from. Everything seems normal, trees here, trees there, branches, leaves, logs, some snow, and silence. The lack of any sound except for the occasional wind rustling is certainly eerie but I started to get used to it. I would have thought that I developed some sort of panic disorder had the uneasiness intensified. But it's evident that something isn't right, you won't go through a complex process as transmigration without any side effects.

I took out the pocket watch and fidgeted with it, opening and closing the cover, again and again, the click sound disturbing the silence. The act was strangely calming proving the marks it has on this body, the predecessor must have valued it a lot, an heirloom perhaps. At least he has more filial piety than me.

When gramps died, I hadn't kept any of his possessions and sold everything. Not even the smoking pipe he carried even in the shower or the antique key collection grandma left behind. I regretted it years later, but regret only comes when it's late.

Maybe it's a good thing, this experience, this new life.

My laments were cut short when the uneasy feeling intensified and turned into dread. My breath gradually picked pace as my heart started to hammer against my ribcage. I know that people with panic disorder regularly have sudden attacks of panic or fear randomly, often for no apparent reason. However, experiencing it for the first time is still quite troubling.

This time, however, my eyes picked up something no less unsettling.

A couple of meters ahead, not far off the trail's left side a lone shoe could be seen.

The shoe is an old black boot, but not too old to throw away. As I approached it, I noticed a bit of snow underneath it but not on top of it. I stoop down and picked it up. The shoe is damp and quite heavy. As soon as I turned it over to examine it further, I gasped in shock as I briskly throw it away once I saw the inside, unconsciously taking two steps back.

This isn't a shoe, it's a FUCKING FOOT.

My gaze alternates between the hand that I used to pick it, which is now stained with a red liquid, and the shoe with a severed human foot inside. And with the way it landed, the mutilated cut was directed my way. The protruding bones, the mess of muscles, arteries, and veins with clogged blood all over them.

I narrowed my eyes and my nose wrinkled, a knot forming in my stomach. I took deep breaths as I rubbed my hand against a tree trunk, while my head darted in all directions for more clues.

I know that something isn't right, this forest wasn't giving me any friendly feeling from the start. This is not the work of wolves or bears. Their jaws may be strong enough to break human bones, but not for such a clean bone cut. The only carnivore I can think of that is capable of such a feat at the moment is a crocodile. Which is highly unlikely since this cold forest is far from being their natural habitat.

I am starting to regret my time with gramps, he was an excellent hunter. I should've listened to him more. Regardless, things are proving to be more dangerous. I expected some risks, yet now that It's on my face I'm a bit scared. There is a high chance the foot belongs to the hunter I'm seeking, which makes the possibility of them still alive slim. In these current conditions and without any medical assistance even a gunshot wound to the leg can be fatal, much less a severed foot. Blood loss is no joke.

I quickly caught traces of blood littering the ground on a somewhat linear track. But no sign on the ground indicates that they were dragged by a wherever predator to their foot. So they had to run or more accurately jump on one leg.

This leaves me in a pinch. Continue along the road trail, go back to the cabin and try the other side of the trail, or follow the track of blood. The first option will likely lead to circumventing the cliff and into whatever the predecessor of this body came from. However the time it will take to and the end destination are both uncertain. The second option is unknown, I have no idea where the other side of the road leads, other than deeper into the forest. The third option directs to a dead or dying person, a merciless predator capable of tearing human limbs apart, and most importantly... a gun.

Ultimately the goal hasn't changed only intensified. And with a gun, my chance of survival will be higher. Furthermore, with luck, they will have a phone on them, assuming phones exist in this world. But, since guns and satellites exist, then why not phones? hopefully.

Going after the blood tracks is, of course, dangerous. However, I don't believe that going through any of the road's directions is any less dangerous. The fact that a severed foot was found not far from it proves that. Therefore, it's either getting exposed to danger for better chances of survival or walking on the edge while praying.

It's a gamble really.

Or a risky investment.

I mulled over it a bit more, the sense of unreality still affecting my mind. Yet the sense of crisis is real. What is the right choice here? I don't know. But I know the choice that will increase my chances of survival and that's enough. I steeled myself, took two deep breaths, axe in hand as I walked after the blood trails.

My heart was hammering against my chest, and every step was slow and careful. The silence around me was deafening. My head darted to and fro, every tree seem to hide a shadow ready to jump at any time. I gripped the ax tighter as I kept moving. The tracks were easy to follow with minimal effort which also reduces the victim's odds.

It's when a voice in my head started whispering doubts, that the blood track abruptly stopped. I don't need to look further as the source of the tracks is less than a dozen meters to my right. I winced, closed my mouth, and clenched my teeth trying to push down the bile rising.

As expected the unfortunate soul didn't make it. Yet...

That wasn't a body, but minced meat, a disgusting mess of bones, organs, and all sorts of organic fluid. I wouldn't even recognize it as a human if it wasn't for the bits of clothes mixed in.

I looked away from the gruesome sight, trying to keep calm as I tried to find the motivation for this absurdity. Wasting any time here would be unwise. And soon I found it. Not far from the... mess is a relatively intact arm cleanly cut from the shoulder and in its hand a rifle.

I pinched my nose and hastily walked towards it. I don't know what abomination did this but I don't want to find out. I don't know if it's the sense of crisis or the mangled mess that pushed my boundaries, but I have no aversion to grabbing the detached arm. My pace quickened when I realized it was still warm. The fingers curled strongly on the rifle's grip, I had to exert some strength to pull them one by one before getting the rifle free.

The rifle, a little more than a meter in length is similar to the one gramps had, I don't remember the name but it was used in world war 2. A bolt-action rifle, with wood as the base. a bayonet attached to the end.

I stored the axe on my belt before gripping the riffle with both hands, feeling the smooth and rigid wood against my fingers and its almost four kilograms of weight. I never would have thought I would be this comfortable holding a firearm. After all, I used to dislike guns, for subjectively good reasons; they are noisy, dangerous, and costly. But now my life will depend on it, and hopefully, I won't end like its previous owner.

As soon as I was about to lift the bolt and check if it was loaded. A chill shot down my spine, sending shivers up my back, and the air around me suddenly grew thicker. My head unconsciously turned towards the direction I felt a gaze. My eyes widened beyond belief, my blood ran cold and my heart froze in my chest. I felt time stop as my body froze.

Less than thirty meters to my left, obscured by fog and shadow, a humanoid figure, stood still, quiet, waiting, watching.