1 Nightmares.

Sparkling embers cascaded like hellish snowflakes, sharp snaps of breaking wood, and the smell of roasted flesh.

Screams of pain and the sound of crackling fire were all assaulting my senses.

I looked at my shaky hands, which were drenched in crimson-red blood.

I had no idea what went down.

It all happened so fast.

I looked around frantically, still unable to comprehend what caused all of this. But there is one undeniable truth that pierced through the chaos and confusion—something I didn't want to believe.

"I did this," I whispered in horror as I gazed around with puffy red eyes that were welling out with tears.

The inferno around me roared, its flames becoming sentient and taking on an accusatory tone as they bellowed their condemnation.

"Yes!! You did this," the flames taunted, their voices echoing in a demonic chorus while intensifying their heat. "Murderer!" they added with a low growl as they coiled around my limbs.

With one tug, they suspended me in the air with their fiery tendrils pulling on each of my four limbs.

"I am not," I stammered, shaking my head in denial while gritting my teeth from the pain of my limbs being stretched out and on the verge of being dismembered.

I couldn't suppress the tears that welled up or the desperate pleas for mercy that escaped my lips.

"I didn't mean it. I didn't know what happened to me, I'm sorry. I..." I stuttered, beseeching the flames to spare me. However, it became evident that the flames had made their inexorable decision.

"Join them, demon," they let out one final bellow as they funneled into my mouth I let out one final short, ugly gasp.

My eyes were wide in shock, unable to scream or do anything as I choked on the fire that was burning me from within.

"Auuuugh!" Gasping for air, I awoke, ensnared in damp sheets in the middle of a room that was dimly lit by the feeble glow of the streetlight outside.

"Jeez," I cursed as I tried to exhale, attempting to calm the heart pounding against my chest that was threatening to burst out.

I stumbled up, reaching out with trembling hands to the table in front of my worn couch, which doubled as my bed. My fingers closed around the cool surface of a pill bottle. The harsh rattle of pills against plastic caused by my shaking hands echoed in the silence as I retrieved the drugs.

They weren't prescriptions or anything like that—I couldn't afford the credits for such a luxury. All I knew was that these pills helped me suppress those hellish memories and the associated feelings.

I popped the bottle open, letting its contents scatter on the table. Then I reached for the amber bottle with a little liquid in its bottom. Unscrewing the cap, the scent of alcohol bit into my senses.

I swallowed the pills, washing them down with a gulp of whiskey that burned like liquid fire. It was a welcomed pain, a distraction from the nightmare still echoing through my consciousness.

I sat there, fingers pressing against the temples of my nose, eyes closed, hoping to forcibly bury those feelings and memories deep within.

I opened my eyes and let out a deep sigh. I looked around for a moment. then decided there was no need for me to attempt to go back to sleep.

For most people, sleep is an opportunity to rest and momentarily escape the real world. However, for me, it offered little respite.

The nightmares persisted, haunting me for years on end.

I had tried everything—self-reflection, very expansive therapy, meditation, even turning to religion—but nothing seemed to work. Perhaps deep down, I knew something was deeply wrong with me. I dreaded the possibility that the demon inside me that I try my hardest to suppress might resurface.

Shaking that thought out of my mind, I reached for my phone, purposefully ignoring the missed calls as I navigated straight to my social media and started scrolling.

@WallStreetNews: "The Thornthrone's GDP has soared by 10% a year for the past decade, but with little improvement in citizens' quality of life. High crime rates and violence continue to plague the megacity-state. Is prosperity on Nocturna Isle an illusion, or is it always around the corner?"

@NoctuTechNet: "Introducing the latest in robotics: the Saar crop's quadruped Ironhaund! Expected to lead the way in warfare and crimefighting, these robotic canines are set to revolutionize security, war, and law enforcement. Are we witnessing the dawn of a new era in defense technology?"

@BatVirusUpadtes: "The highly infectious virus with a high mortality rate, the bat virus, which emerged from Southeast Asia, is still reaping lives. and the first cases are now reported in Europe, the USA, and several other countries. Is the world ready to face the challenge of a viral outbreak?"

@ArcFoundation: "A new decade begins with promises of high economic growth, technological advancements, and social problem-solving. Are we on the brink of a transformative era, or will challenges persist? Here's to the possibilities of the roaring 20s!"

@MercGuildNocturna: "The Nocturna Isle Mercenary Guild is recruiting. If you have the skills, wits, and courage, we want you. Exciting opportunities await those ready to take the sword against the shadows. Serve, protect, and thrive! Nocturna Needs You; Apply Now!"

Hours passed in mindless scrolling, where I found myself audibly grunting at bad news and releasing bursts of air from my nose at amusing memes. However, with the faint morning light already streaming into my room, I realized the night had slipped away unnoticed.

Tossing my phone onto the couch, I headed to the bathroom and treated myself to a refreshing shower. Once done, I faced the mirror.

My wet black hair cascaded down to my shoulders. Woven into the midnight strands were insistent streaks of white scattered throughout.

Yes, despite being only eighteen, my hair was graying, and I couldn't fault it. My whole body screamed from weariness due to stress and pressure. In the mirror, my eyes too reflected the weariness, the telltale black bags beneath them a stark contrast against my milky white skin.

This city tends to do that to you. Each person reacts to it in their own way, but for little old me, it's speed-running aging.

Completing my shower, I slid into a pair of black jeans, the familiar comfort of my old combat boots, and a cozy wool sweater topped with a shearling trench coat.

Approaching the table, I performed a routine check on my gun, ensuring it was in optimal condition. I strapped it visibly to my person—an aesthetic gesture more than anything. I'd never used it, never intended to, but in this city, open carry was the norm, a cultural statement. Everyone flaunted their weapons openly, a testament to the harsh survivalist reality and culture of Nocturna Isle. However, sometimes it wasn't a matter of if, but when you'd find the need to use it.

I looked at myself with a tired smile and nodded in approval.

I wasn't dangerous, but I never shied away from trying to look dangerous.

Satisfied that my style was on point, I turned to the table, securing my medication that was scattered on its surface back into its pill bottle. I then reached for my phone and credit Chip, slipping them into my pocket. With everything in place, I headed to the door.

The moment my fingertip brushed against the cold, metallic surface of the door's button, I was welcomed with all sorts of noises and smells that again assaulted my senses. The vibrations in the air resonated with the thumping beats of music blasted by the punks who were still partying in the building, and the smell of hookah and drugs were choking the air, forcing a cough out of me.

Stepping out, my gaze swept across the hall, cluttered with perennial squatters doing and talking about the devil's know-who. Some were plugged up and lost in their VR headsets; they were indistinguishable from the architecture itself. Most of them worked for Mama Vall upstairs, who ran the mega building, and being born into the Thronthrone, you'd get used to each building having its own parasites growing on its back. So the best is to ignore them and act like they don't exist.

I made my way through the long hallway, which was filled with doors.

How things worked here was not like the rest of the world. You could rent a room by the hour, day, or month, or however much you like, and pay upfront. The moment you were overdue, you'd get locked out of your room, and if you were inside, you would be thrown out. Mama Vall already had a waiting line of people eager to pay for a room.

The monetary system in the city made it nearly impossible to go overdue. Everything was digitized. The moment your room credits ran out, the water and electricity inside would shut down, and anything left inside became Mama Vall's property.

I never met this Vall, and I never cared to do so. I deposited the credits at the credit scanner in front of the room, and the credits would go to her, assuming Mama Vall was actually a she.

The credits were a cryptocurrency spawned by the city's need for ways to close deals anonymously. With time, it became the go-to currency for everything illicit or illegal, extending beyond the city. It was like the dollar, but instead of gold or oil, it was backed by the megacity itself and the things it could offer.

With that said, I made a beeline to the elevator and headed down to the city.