March 24, 2024, Sunday Night – 11:22 PM
"Open the door! Get your payment by tomorrow, or scram. If not, I'll call the authorities to throw you out!"
The banging stopped, and the footsteps slowly faded away.
Adan groaned, slouching deeper into the worn-out couch. How had his life fallen apart so quickly? Just a month ago, he had a stable office job. Then, out of nowhere, he was fired. To make things worse, the landlady had hiked up the rent—probably an excuse to kick him out, given the rumors of his supposed "criminal record." which now he does dealing with it.
"Me ? Corruption? Hah... What a load of crap," Adan muttered bitterly.
He swore he would never stoop so low, yet here he was—framed for corruption by someone he had trusted. His reputation was in shambles, and everything he had worked for was crumbling. Was this karma? Had he unknowingly committed some sin? Adan had tried to live a righteous life, but only a month had passed since he refused to agree to some shady deal from an anonymous caller, and everything had spiraled out of control.
Dumped by his girlfriend, drowning in debt, and forced into a darkness he could barely claw his way out of.
"RM1,050 a month for this dump? That old hag's insane," he muttered, glaring around the dingy apartment.
The peeling paint, leaky ceiling, and creaking floors made the rent hike feel like a cruel joke.
Adan reached for his cigar box, only to find it empty. He let out a bitter laugh.
"Figures," he said under his breath. "Life's just one big joke, huh?"
He stared out at the city lights from his balcony, phone in hand. The same unknown number flashed on the screen. Should he have taken that deal a month ago?
*****
One Month Earlier
April 1, 2024, Sunday Night – 11:22 PM
Raining...
The obnoxious ringtone blared for the 21st time that day.
Adan rubbed his temples in frustration.
"I really need to change this damn ringtone," he muttered.
He glanced at the caller ID. It was the same unknown number that had been harassing him for days.
"Seriously? Don't these scammers have anything better to do?"
he grumbled, swiping to answer the call out of sheer annoyance.
"What the hell do you want?!" he snapped.
The line was silent.
"Hello?! Bastard, don't you have better things to do than scam people?!"
Finally, a voice crackled through—robotic and distorted.
<...Adan Emika, 34 years old, born January 23, 1990...>
Adan froze. His breath caught in his throat.
"What the... Who the hell are you?!"
Adan's eyes widened.
"Hazim? Is that you? HAZIM?! Tell me it's you!"
But a chilling laugh echoed from the other end of the line.
"What do you mean?!" Adan's voice rose, panic seeping in.
"You're insane! Get back to the looney bin, you nutjob!" Adan barked, his heart pounding.
Before he could hear more, he ended the call and tossed his phone onto the couch.
"Calm down, Adan. Calm down," he muttered to himself, pacing the room.
But the voice lingered in his mind. Hazim was supposed to be gone—missing, or dead. No, it couldn't be true. It's the past . He should have forgotten about that .
Someone was playing a sick joke. It had to be.