Ethan, an exhausted young man, collapsed onto his bed after a long day of work. As his eyes closed, he drifted into a deep slumber. However, when he woke up, he found himself in the middle of a dimly lit street.

Confused and disoriented, Ethan looked around and noticed a figure in the distance. It was a person with wild hair and tattered clothes, desperately trying to catch a cut electric cable. The person's eyes met Ethan's, and an eerie smile spread across their face.

Startled, Ethan approached cautiously and asked, "What are you doing? Are you alright?"

The person continued to stare at Ethan with their unsettling smile and replied, "I have been trying to catch this cable for centuries. It holds immense power, and I must possess it. it is my last chance to survive"

Concerned for the person's safety, Ethan tried to dissuade them, "What are you talking about? But it's dangerous! You could get electrocuted. Please, let me help you." However, his pleas fell on deaf ears as the person remained fixated on the cable.

Suddenly, a loud noise echoed through the street, and a speeding bike crashed into the person, sending them flying through the air. Ethan gasped in horror, realizing that his attempts to intervene were futile.

In the waning light, I sprinted towards the site of the accident, my heart pounding with urgency. The evening had turned treacherous, a sudden darkness enveloping the scene, obscuring the girl from my sight. Yet, there it was—the motorcycle, ominously silent, lying in wait just before me. A shiver of cold dread crept up my spine, an icy premonition of something amiss.

Before I could process the thought, agony exploded in my stomach—a sharp, unyielding pain as if a blade had found its mark. My knees buckled, and a strangled cry escaped my lips, "Aaaa… It's too much pain, I can't bear it anymore, please, someone save me, don't let me die!"

Through the haze of torment, I saw a figure—a silhouette backlit by the faintest glimmer of light, a gentle smile playing on their lips. But the darkness was a shroud, masking their features, leaving their intentions hidden in shadow. As my strength waned and blood seeped from my wound, my consciousness began to slip away, the world fading to black as I succumbed to the void.

With a jolt, I was torn from the clutches of the nightmare, my voice tearing through the silence as I cried out in pain. Frantically, I patted down my stomach, expecting the worst, only to find it unscathed. Confusion clouded my mind—the pain had felt so vivid, so undeniably real. It took a moment for the truth to dawn on me: it was all just a dream.

Shaken, I sought refuge in the comfort of my bed, eager to escape the lingering echoes of terror. No sooner had my head touched the pillow than I succumbed to a deep, enveloping slumber. But peace was not to be mine; I awoke once more, this time to the sterile white of a hospital room, a growing pain gnawing at my stomach. It was as if the phantom blade from my dream had followed me into reality, its sharp edge a cruel reminder of the night's horrors.

A doctor materialized at my bedside, his presence a stark contrast to the solitude of my room. My curiosity, now a living thing within me, demanded answers. "How did I get here? What happened to me?" I implored, seeking some semblance of understanding.

The doctor's response sent a chill down my spine. "I don't know, I think he is your friend," he said, his words laced with disbelief. His statement struck me—a bolt from the blue—for I knew no soul in this town who could claim such a title. Questions burned on the tip of my tongue, but they were never to be voiced. The doctor, with a practiced hand, administered anesthesia, his voice a soothing balm as he urged, "Rest now."

And so, I drifted once again into the abyss, the world fading away as I fell into a deep, medicated sleep, the mystery of the night's events still swirling in the shadows of my mind.

Gasping for air, I awoke with a start, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. My hands shook uncontrollably, the tendrils of fear still clinging to them. "What's happening to me?" I wondered, the lines between reality and nightmare blurring. "Could this be the toll of my relentless overtime?" But the sensations were too intense, too tangible to be mere figments of my imagination.

As the minutes ticked by, a chilling thought took root in my mind. "Am I being whisked away to another realm each time I close my eyes? How could that be?" In search of answers, I allowed myself to drift back towards sleep, my head sinking into the pillow. Yet, in an instant, I was jolted awake, my wrists bound tightly with ropes to the hospital bed.

A sinister chuckle filled the room, and as I lifted my head, a sight most macabre greeted me. There stood a doctor and another figure, brandishing large nails and a hammer with a menacing air. My voice, tinged with panic, broke the eerie silence. "What are you trying to do? Who are you?"

The doctor's smile was a twisted mimicry of comfort. "Isn't it your friend?" he posed, his words slicing through the tension. I protested, "What are you talking about? He is not…" But the realization hit me like a wave—they were in cahoots.

As the doctor secured my legs, the stranger approached, a gleeful madness in his eyes. "Do you have any last wish?" he crowed, positioning a nail against my temple. Desperation clawed at my throat as I pleaded, "What are you doing with this? I don't even know you, please don't do this."

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. The hammer fell, and with each sickening thud, a nail was driven deeper. Agony engulfed me, a silent scream trapped within. "Is this how my life ends?" I thought despairingly, hope fading with each drop of blood lost. And as darkness encroached once more, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the unknown.

Awakening with a start, I felt an excruciating pressure in my head, as if countless nails had been hammered into my skull. In a haze of panic, I stumbled from the bed, groping for any medicine that might dull the relentless pain. The bathroom became my sanctuary, where splashing water on my face seemed to wash away the agony, if only for a moment.

Yet, as the pain subsided, a new terror took its place. The unmistakable sensation of being watched crept over me. I spun around, heart racing, only to find emptiness. No one was there. But the mirror told a different story. My reflection, or what should have been my reflection, was laughing—a silent, mocking laugh that chilled me to the bone. My body locked in fear, every muscle rigid, my pulse thundering in my ears, loud as a bullet train.

It took every ounce of will to break the paralysis. With a surge of adrenaline, I hurled the nearest object at the mirror, shattering the glass and the haunting image with it. I fled into the night, the streets deserted and silent, a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.

I wandered aimlessly until I reached a dead end, the silence so profound I could hear the blood rushing through my veins. Then, out of the stillness, a voice sliced through the air, "Do you feel 'Heck Loop', boy?" I spun around, heart leaping with a mixture of fear and hope, to face the speaker—a beggar, his question hanging between us like a guillotine poised to fall.