"When I ran out of the underground subway tunnel, the sunset above was brilliant and dazzling, with the ruined city appearing like a giant black whirlpool, occupied by terrifying monsters.
I knew I had to fight them to survive, but just two hours later, I realized that these creatures were not my true enemy.
In order to get rid of the sticky substance binding me in the subway carriage, I had to tear off a part of the skin on my arm. The wound was painful, but the fatal issue was that the hygiene conditions here could potentially lead to infection. I had to urgently find a place to treat the wound.
I didn't expect to find any professional medical equipment. All I needed was a clean water source, preferably with cloth for bandages. Food and sleep would be something to consider once I got rid of this damn pain.
I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but the pain seemed to cause half my body to become somewhat numb. I've had my share of injuries before, but none compared to the wound on my arm, the pain was so intense it numbed my muscles and made my head dizzy.
As expected, I lost track of my companions. But fortunately, a small, chatty animal remained by my side, which greatly relieved my mental stress. Having a team member in good spirits was always a good thing.
I assumed I was on a street somewhere in New York, but it was challenging to be certain. After all, it has been a long time since I left Earth.
Soon, I found myself fortunate. The high street where the subway station was located had a hospital, and importantly, I did not encounter any more terrifying monsters on the way there.
Although I still saw sparse shadows in the distant fog, they seemed uninterested in me, a fragile creature. This made me question if such a small number of creatures could really bring about the end of human civilization in this cosmos?
But I had no time to ponder such grand questions; I had to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.
The good news was that before the sun set, I arrived at the abandoned hospital. Even better, I found iodine, hydrogen peroxide, bandages, cotton swabs and other medically necessary items that I might need in a facility on the second floor.
The hospital wasn't large and it seemed quite old with old-fashioned radiators along the corridor and the blinds on the windows falling apart. Yet, there was no nauseating sticky substance here. On the third floor, I also found a relatively clean ward, perhaps I could spend the night here.
I began to bandage myself with the medical supplies, the little creature with sharp teeth and claws was of immense help. When I felt the stretch of the bandage on my arm, I actually felt a sense of security.
Great, I thought. In a situation where supplies were extremely scarce, and I was in dire straits, being able to find exactly what I needed was incredibly comforting, more so than I could've imagined.
When I finished, I went to the ward, bid goodbye to the last rays of the sunset through the gap in the curtains, leaned back in the sickbed and waited for darkness. I really needed a good sleep.
When night fell, I felt an extreme tiredness surging. Usually, I could handle irregular sleep patterns, but I was particularly sleepy that day. Luckily, I wasn't hungry. I tightened the blanket around me, and laid down.
When I was lying in bed, the tiredness would surge and recede intermittently. I was aware that I needed sleep, but I couldn't fall asleep. I instinctively turned over but jolted from the pain in my injured arm.
After much wriggling around, I finally started to feel a bit dozy, but at that moment, the tightness on my injured arm that brought me a sense of security started to loosen. I thought the bandage must have come loose, which was quite uncomfortable. So, I held up my arm to check the wound.
Unfortunately, the wound had started bleeding again. I tried to get up and rebandage it, but sleepiness washed over me like a wave, pinning me to the bed. My body was numb, my head pounded, and it was as though through hazy delirium, I convinced myself that I was not that fragile. I just needed a good sleep, and everything would get better.
The sweat from running had drenched my clothes, making them stick uncomfortably to my skin. The heat and dampness was palpable on every hair on my body. A recurring 'tap tap' sound was heard from the window. I thought, it must be raining.
A late summer rain transported me into infinite dreams. The washed tortoise back leaves of bamboo, streams seeping into the earth, humid, deep gray brick walls, and the 'squeeze' sound of my father's oversized, ill-fitting boots beautifully retracted the veil over my childhood in Englewood.
After my mother died, I was shuttled through various foster homes until I was dumped in the orphanage in this small town of New Jersey State. In my memory, the time spent here was all faded, like a haphazardly placed photo by the table, its color bleached by the sun.
After I had my mother's grave moved here, I would always visit her after the first thunderstorm at the end of summer.
The feeling of humidity increased. I should not have worn a thick jacket into the cemetery park. Sweat covered my body, or perhaps it was rain, but enduring this unbearable sultriness and heat, I arrived at my mother's grave.
When I saw the photo, I realized I missed her more than I had imagined. For some reason though, there was a layer of fog over her photo. I reached out a hand, wanting to wipe away the dust on the photo.
But when I reached out my hand, I felt a heaviness in my arm. Turning my head, I realized it was the jacket sleeve caught in a bush. So, I reached out my hand and started wrestling with the sticky bushes.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, the fog clearing from the photo, the two eyes in my mother's picture turned into two hollow holes. I was startled, and fell back, hand retracted, but felt a sudden pain in my arm.
When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed. The rhythmic snoring of the little creature beside me reminded me, this was reality. My bandaged arm was completely unraveled.
The skin beneath, turned a brownish black after treatment, was a horrifying sight. The thick, coagulated blood squeezed from numerous ruptured blood vessels made me feel a deep revulsion from the pit of my stomach.
I took several deep breaths, untied another roll of bandages and prepared to rewrap my arm. After I finished everything and fell asleep, a terrible itching crept from my arm and spread to half of my body.
Itchy, itchy, itchy...
I couldn't take it anymore, my thoughts were becoming roiled, manic. A terrible rage enveloped me - why does it itch? Didn't I treat it soon enough? Why do you have to trouble me now? Haven't I suffered enough?!
Half awake, half asleep, my consciousness was tearing apart everything. I was awakened by the sharp scream of the small creature. When I woke up, there were bloody bandages and muscle tissue everywhere.
And when I saw my hand, I began to vomit uncontrollably.
The wound now looks so nauseating. The fresh blood on my other hand shows I not only removed the bandage but also frantically scratched it, causing a mixture of my previously applied medication, dried and still uncoagulated blood, and the flesh generated from the scratching.
I don't feel pain, just nausea.
I feel like my chest is being crushed, anchored to the ground, unable to move. Above me are the bent pieces of metal and dark rust from the subway ceiling.
And when I turn my head, I discover the sticky fluid immobilizing me is secreted from the wound on my arm, and the bugs nearly falling into my mouth have been coughed up from my stomach.
Something is trying to come out from there.
At the thought of this horrifying idea, I start feeling pain in even more parts of my body. It's as if sharp hooklegs are piercing through my skin, and I've become a chrysalis being burst open, torn into hollow chunks of flesh.
I can't resist the attack of fear anymore.
However, clearer than fear is a kind of arrogance unique to humans.
Nothing in this world could be more noble than humans. This terrifying thought of hubris rapidly expands in my mind, it makes me realize that there is something worse than death - becoming a monster.
I don't even want to become part of the God Clan, so what could make me willingly degrade myself, become a hideous worm?
If anyone would ask me to do so, I would tell him to fuck off.
The most commendable thing about humans is wisdom. If anyone wants to replace reason with madness, I'd rather discard this frail body to achieve spiritual greatness - eternally great.
I completely smashed my elbow joint with a chunk of concrete, used daggers to cut all my fascia and muscles, I cut off my own forearm.
The night passed, the day broke.
Those cowards fucked off."
The last curved line of the script under the quill fell, and Shiller, who had in one breath written a long string of words, put down the pen and rubbed his somewhat sore wrist.
He looked up at the time, just three minutes before the agreed time, and the door downstairs was knocked on.
Shiller stood up, walked down the stairs and opened the door to the small clinic. Outside the door was Matt holding a food box.
Matt held up the Japanese-style food box with a cherry blossom pattern printed on it, shook the bottle of wine in his hand, and said, "Last time I noticed that you quite like sashimi, fresh pink sea bream and Riesling ice wine, fancy some?"
"Seems like you're determined to bribe me." Shiller opened the door of the clinic and stepped aside to let the blind lawyer in.
The two sat down next to the sofa on the first floor. Matt opened the food box and Shiller examined the bottle of beer. While setting the plates Matt said, "Last time I noticed you weren't too interested in sake. Thought you might prefer sweeter drinks."
"You got that right, I'm part of the port party, only those picky old-timers would like sherry."
Shiller went to the kitchen to fetch two wine glasses, poured a glass for himself and Matt. Matt picked up his chopsticks, but before he could pick up the food, he hesitated and pulled back his hand.
"It's clear you're worried, just ask what's on your mind."
Matt slightly pursed his lips and said, "I am very worried about those kids, especially Spider-Man, whether he's Peter Parker or someone else."
"Spider-Men's understanding mother, huh?"
Matt chuckled embarrassingly, Shiller handed him a glass of wine, "More than one Spider-Man has compared Nick and you to parents. Compared to Nick's high expectations, all the Spider-Men seem to enjoy talking to Night Devil about their growth worries."
"Don't say that, they are also willing to confide in you."
"But I haven't fulfilled my duty as a teacher." Shiller slightly tilted his head and said, "At least not before."
"But…" Matt paused, revealed a difficult expression and then looked at Shiller with his lifeless eyes and said, "But even if you want to carry out this duty, you don't necessarily have to…"
Shiller looked back at Matt and said,
"Since the laziness and lack of progression of the young heroes are partly due to my negligence in guidance, I should naturally strive to make up for it, right?"
"They actually did make some progress…"
"The kind of progress where they can't handle a protest in one district of New York in two months?"