Lucas Vaughn stood in the dimly lit alley, breathing heavily. The rain soaked through his clothes, cold droplets running down his face, mixing with the sweat on his skin. His hands trembled. In them, he held something he didn't remember picking up. A knife.
His gaze drifted downward. A man lay at his feet, sprawled across the wet pavement, crimson seeping from a wound that hadn't existed moments ago. The body twitched once, then stilled.
Lucas took a step back.
"No... No, I didn't do this."
His mind raced, searching for an explanation. He had been walking home. He had been thinking about something—his past, maybe? A memory flashed before his eyes, but it was wrong.
In the reflection of a puddle, he saw himself, but something was off. His features wavered, distorted. His eyes were darker. His lips curled into a smirk that didn't belong to him.
A voice whispered.
"You did this, Lucas."
The world rippled. The body flickered. The knife in his hand was gone. The alley was empty.
Lucas gasped, stumbling backward. His breath came in sharp, uneven gulps. He wasn't insane. He wasn't. But the world around him... it wasn't right.
Somewhere in the city, a scream echoed. A name was spoken—his name. But he wasn't sure it belonged to him anymore.
---