There's no way to tell if she's lying, is there? If she's out here to kill me, who's to say she'll help in any way possible? Provided I can get Mr Algernon, I might be able to turn the tide of battle. It's a life-or-death situation, after all. Power in numbers.

I walk to the apartment door. Aedi doesn't seem like she wants to attack me, so there's no reason to rush. All I have to do is take this slowly and get the upper hand in time.

Wrapping my palm around the door, I make an effort to open it.

Contrary to my expectations, it actually does.

I walk along the welcome carpet and enter the place. The whole area is empty. As if someone had recently moved out. Devoid of any furniture save for a table or so.

[https://imgur.com/R5Nfshc.jpg]

"Have fun in there!"

I heed the woman's call with a shut of the door.

Algernon should be here. He has to be. I pick up the pace and search around, walking to a random door.

"Oi, anyone here?!"

No response. My yell falls on deaf ears.

I reach the brown door and open it. Here is a room. Marked by a single bed, a white desk on the side. Oddly enough, there's nothing here too. No sign of life or the presence of someone who had been here.

Hm.

Standing still, I look aboard, scrying the room for anything.

"Ah.'

There's a crumpled piece of paper in a small metal bin.

It's the only sign I have. An indicator someone had been here at all.

Once again, I violate the tenant's privacy, sweeping out the note and making it as legible as possible.

'I am sorry, mother and father. I am a terrible son. I have run away and done something very bad. Please forgive me. I have failed you.'

That's all there is on the front side. However, the ink is pretty 'heavy' so to speak, and I can tell there's something on the back pressing through the page.

I flip the paper.

IHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOUIHAVEFAILEDYOU

What the hell?

I'm frozen in place, staring at this god-forsaken note, unable to quite understand. None of it really has any sense. It's so damn strange, and yet it's written in perfect handwriting, almost as if a robot had done it.

Had the guy gone insane? Maybe. He was pretty weird when we fought and all, but to go to this extent?

I crumple the note and toss it in the trash. So, that's it. Besides a strange piece of paper, there's nobody here. None of that 'colleague' nonsense, or even Algernon, for that matter.

After finishing that, I go and look around the rest of the apartment.

Ultimately, I discover nothing of interest. Later, when I walk out the place, I also learn that the woman's gone, vanished into thin air or something.

"Man."

Was that just one big joke? The problem with a lack of consequence is that these types of objectively crazy events seem like one big dream. As if finishing a movie and remembering that you are, in fact, alive and not being chased by some crazy serial killer.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

".........."

I head back home after that. There's time to think about these things later. Reporting to the police is a stupid idea, anyway. No saying if they're in cohorts with these bastards. Along the way, a few figures stare at me, some weird blue-haired kid included, but that doesn't really matter.

In any case, I keep whatever things I learned to myself, reason be damned.

Click.

Outside my apartment, I unlock the door. Being slightly on edge, I even peer through a slight finger-length gap, looking for any sign of change.

I nibble on my thumb in the meanwhile. It's relaxing, with the pain and blood taking my mind off things.

"Alright then."

A cursory glance later, I understand that no one's entered.

Due to the absence of any evidence or signs, I soon find myself quite comfortable. Eyes to the ceiling, hands behind my head, and arse on the sofa.

"Man, I'm hungry."

Argh. All that running around and adrenaline must've got me burning calories. I haven't had dinner yet, so it might be a good time to set something up.

Food in mind, I head to the fridge. I'm standing in front of it, door open, eyes searching every corner, when I stumble upon some packaged teacakes.

Haven't had afternoon tea yet, so this does seem fitting if anything.

Following my acquisition of top-tier cuisine, I make my way back to the sofa.

Hm.

There's a lot to unpackage today.

Learning all these new things in regard to what's happening is sending my mind for a spin. Well, in that case, I should probably write down what I know. Organize it somehow.

I quickly head back to my room. Pulled by instinct, I open my bottom left drawer (usually left untouched) and take out a pen and paper.

Paper is easier to write on, in my opinion. While writing on a keyboard is quicker and more efficient, pen on paper just gives you more options to doodle and whatnot. Not that I'm a prolific artist or anything. But having the choice is still nice.

With that justification in mind, I run back to the sofa.

Perfect.

My setup is now ready. Teacakes on my left-hand side and pen on my right.

Alright, let's do this!

As if moved by an external force, my body springs into action. I write, forming a letter every five seconds while devouring food in the meanwhile.

I have to admit, though. These teacakes are pretty moist. When I put one in my mouth, it spurts with every bite, sending a raw taste of iron into my throat. More than likely, some new flavouring. The question of what happened today is still a puzzle, a waiting hurdle to overcome.

And I sure as hell aren't going to whine about teacakes.

I spend the entirety of the next ten minutes on that.

To be honest, I'm already starting to feel better. I don't know why, but I feel like a weight's been lifted off me. Head's lighter, too, as if someone had injected oxygen into it.

I pause, satisfied. Since I'm done with my writing, I think I deserve a little treat. Ever so hungry, I attempt to take another teacake.

Attempt being the keyword here.

Try as I might, I can't seem to grab onto it. It's like my fingers are missing. Somehow shortened by magic, unable to touch anything.

Oh well.

Crunch.

I begin to bite at what's available to me.

Crunch.

There's a bit of a mess, with blood spurting into my eye and all over my body. I think I'm a messy eater, to be honest. It's my first time devouring human flesh, though. So, you have to forgive me for leaving bits of my meat on the window sill, and bone on the ground and just wasting all the blood that's just endlessly pouring out of every man-made orifice in my body that ever seems to grow and open and never seems to close in on itself, like an endless black void.

Briefly, I take a break from my dinner and raise the note to my eyes.

I am sorry. I decided it was a good idea to eat myself, and I couldn't help it. I'm just so delicious and amazing in every way possible, and it's just WOwa, LIAke, seriously.

Huh.

I look at my left arm. There's a hole where my limb should be. Strange. It only just occurs to me that I'm eating myself. I know I was consuming human meat, but it being myself is on a whole nother level.

Even though I know it's wrong, I still continue. In time, I work my way from the arm, to the leg, to every crevice of my body that my neck and mouth will take me.

—Ahh.

My consciousness is fading.

I’m dying. I’m dying but I’m still so hungry.

In the background I hear noises. The sound of my door opening. A misplaced high-pitched whisper.

“Thank you for offering yourself to me, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of~”.

I have nothing to say.

I don't know what's happened to me, but if there's one thing for certain, it's that my fight is over.