Nagasaki, August 9, 1945,
10:30 A.M.
Gray skies hung over Nagasaki like a shroud of mourning, as if the city knew something its residents did not. The streets, usually bustling with life, were eerily quiet, as though trapped in a moment frozen in time. Watanabe pedaled his bicycle slowly, passing silent buildings that stood like mute witnesses, harboring secrets of a darkness yet to unfold. There was an unsettling feeling in the air that morning—a biting chill, though it shouldn't have been cold, as if the wind carried a grim premonition.
At the corner of a quiet street, an old woman sat behind her modest stall, her fresh produce lying untouched. Vegetables and fruits that should have drawn buyers now lay still in their woven baskets. "Fresh vegetables! Fresh fruit!" she called, her voice frail and almost desperate, lost in the city's silence.
Watanabe stopped his bicycle, forcing a smile to hide the unease gnawing at his heart. "Feels strange today, doesn't it, Obaasan?" he asked, trying to break the silence that felt like a ticking bomb.
The old woman glanced at him, her eyes clouded with age yet holding a faint glimmer, like someone who had seen too much. "No one wants to leave their houses, boy. The air feels heavy... like before a storm," she replied, her voice trembling. "I felt this once before, before the great earthquake hit."
Watanabe nodded slowly, though her words sent a shiver down his spine. He pulled out some coins, paying more than necessary. "I'll take some fruit," he said, more to himself than to her. As he placed the fruit into his bag, a young man ran past, his face pale and breathless.
"Planes! Planes approaching from the west!" the young man shouted to anyone who would listen. People nearby turned their gaze skyward, their fear unmistakable. Watanabe followed their gaze, but all he saw was a sky growing darker, as if time had stopped just above their heads.
"No, it can't be," he muttered, trying to dismiss the sudden surge of fear. But even his own voice sounded hollow, like an echo from an endless void.
---
A Few Hours Earlier, 8:00 A.M.
Deep beneath Nagasaki, hidden away from the outside world, lay a secret research facility unknown to the world. Dark, cold concrete corridors served as the setting for forbidden experiments, where scientists raced against time as if trying to outrun something inevitable. Flickering neon lights bounced off the damp walls, casting long shadows that moved like ghosts.
Inside the main chamber, chaos reigned. Papers were strewn across the floor, research equipment scattered haphazardly, and the clatter of typewriters mingled with frantic footsteps. A disheveled Japanese scientist, sweat dripping down his brow, shouted to his colleagues, "Make sure all the data is saved! Don't leave anything behind!" His hands shook as he crammed files into a cracked wooden box. His face was filled with fear—not from exhaustion, but from the realization that their time was running out.
In another corner, a German scientist watched the commotion with tense eyes. His weary blue gaze lingered on the far-off exit, as if waiting for something terrifying to arrive. Each footstep echoed like the toll of a death knell in their anxious minds. "Where is Watanabe? He should be here by now!" he yelled, his tone edged with despair.
"He's still outside the city, said he'd be back this morning," snapped an older scientist, his eyes glued to the radar screen that kept blinking suspicious signals.
"How much time do we have left?" asked a young woman, her voice trembling, eyes fixed on the door that looked like the only escape.
"A week... if we're lucky," replied the man, his tone laced with doubt. "But given the situation, maybe no more than a day."
His words echoed like a curse, locking them in a sense of impending doom. Suddenly, a piercing alarm blared through the facility, its wail cutting through the clamor like a final, desperate warning that the end was near.
---
10:40 A.M.
The alarm continued to wail, reverberating down the corridors like a death chant. A military officer burst into the room, his face ashen, eyes wide as if witnessing a nightmare made real. "Evacuate now! They know we're here! An air raid is imminent!" he yelled, his voice barely audible amidst the growing frenzy.
The scientists froze, some dropping the files they were holding. Fear paralyzed them. "This can't be happening! We're not ready!" cried one scientist, tears mingling with dust and sweat on his cheeks.
They ran, grabbing whatever they could carry—boxes of data, laboratory equipment, even the last remnants of hope. Some stumbled and fell, trampled by those quicker on their feet. Screams, the clash of metal, and sobs filled the air, creating a horrifying symphony that haunted the narrow halls.
Suddenly, a blinding flash ripped through, as if the sky had exploded in wrath. The ground shook with a thunderous roar, splitting buildings and obliterating everything in its path. Bodies were flung into the air, helplessly tossed about, blood splattering against shattered walls. Final screams pierced the air amidst the inferno that blazed uncontrollably.
---
On the Surface, 11:02 A.M.
Watanabe was thrown violently to the ground, his body battered by an invisible force. Pain surged through every inch of him, but the screams and explosions around him were far more excruciating. All around, fires raged, consuming buildings and lifeless bodies. Thick black smoke billowed high, obscuring an already darkened sky.
Amid the rubble, a young mother clutched her lifeless child. "Wake up... wake up, please!" she cried, her voice breaking the heart of anyone who heard, but Watanabe could only remain still. His body refused to move, blood trickled from a wound on his head, and his vision began to blur.
Through the dense, suffocating smoke, Watanabe saw something that didn't belong. A man stood there—dressed in a pristine black suit, clean and untouched by the chaos around him. He walked with a calm, measured stride, as if time had frozen just for him. Watanabe struggled to focus, but his consciousness was slipping away.
"Who are you?" Watanabe mumbled, his voice barely audible amid the roar of destruction. But the man did not answer. He simply offered a faint smile, his eyes cold yet oddly comforting, like someone who knew more than he let on.
In the midst of the surrounding devastation, Watanabe felt an inexplicable calm. He wanted to understand, but his body grew heavier, and his eyes could no longer stay open. In those final moments before everything went black, the man leaned closer, and in the deadly silence, Watanabe's world slowly faded into darkness.