Triton woke up to a familiar sensation.
A heaviness in his body, a cold numbness in his limbs, and the rhythmic beeping of medical devices.
The ceiling above him was sterile white, the fluorescent lights humming faintly in the background. He had woken up here before—too many times to count.
It had been days since his last fall, yet he still hadn't left the hospital. His wounds were superficial this time, but they were "serious enough" to keep him under observation.
No one trusted him.
Not even his own body.
The Room That Never Changed
The scene around him was familiar.
A stiff white bed. Dim light filtering through the window. A wooden chair beside him—where his mother used to sit.
She wasn't there now, but the faint scent of her perfume still lingered in the air, as if her presence hadn't completely vanished.
Near the door, hushed whispers filled the silence.
"Does he look better today?"
His sister's voice—low, but tense.
"He seems calm… but you know how he gets afterward."
His father. His voice was tired, resigned, but not unkind.
Triton slowly opened his eyes, just as his mother cautiously entered the room, carrying a glass of water and a small plate of neatly cut fruit.
"You're awake?" she asked with a small smile, though the worry in her eyes was impossible to hide.
He didn't respond. He only looked at her, then shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall.
10:37 AM.
"The doctors said they'll let you leave tomorrow." She continued, setting the plate down beside him. "But… you need to take this seriously this time, Triton."
He remained silent.
"Please, I don't want to come back and find you here again."
She reached out, grasping his hand—as if trying to anchor him, to hold him in this world, even just a little longer.
Despite everything, they loved him.
Despite everything, they hadn't given up on him yet.
But he knew that love, no matter how strong, wasn't enough to fill the emptiness inside him.
Back to Reality
Another day passed, and Triton finally left the hospital.
The air was cold and refreshing, yet it didn't make him feel anything.
He stood at the hospital entrance for a moment, watching people pass by—ordinary faces, ordinary lives.
Then, he hailed a taxi and headed to work.
Nexus Tech.
A high-rise building with glass windows that reflected the sky, hiding the countless secrets buried inside.
He was a Software Engineer, a faceless worker in one of the largest tech companies specializing in AI systems and cybersecurity applications.
His job was simple:
Sit in front of screens filled with lines of code.
Fix issues.
Write programs.
Manage the company's servers.
A perfect environment for someone like him—someone who hated small talk, who despised meaningless conversations. Here, he could pretend he was fine, and no one would notice he was falling apart in silence.
When he entered the office, his colleagues greeted him as usual.
"Finally decided to come back, huh? We almost thought you quit!"
"The boss was asking about you, but don't worry, we covered for you."
He forced a small smile, muttered a few polite responses, and headed to his desk.
He sat down, powered on his computer, and started his day as if nothing had happened.
But something was different.
The Whispering Voice
As evening came, an unfamiliar feeling crept over him.
At first, it was just exhaustion—like he hadn't slept in days.
His eyelids felt heavy, and his fingers tingled as he typed on the keyboard.
Then, little by little, he began to hear whispers.
Faint. Indistinct. As if coming from the corner of the room.
He looked around.
The office was nearly empty. No one was talking.
Yet, he heard something.
"Wake up…"
He froze.
His heartbeat slowed, but he tried to ignore it.
Maybe it was just fatigue, a mild hallucination from the medication still lingering in his system.
But the feeling didn't fade.
It intensified.
A chill crawled up his spine. His heartbeat quickened. His head felt heavy, like his thoughts were unraveling, like his mind was reaching for something in the darkness but couldn't grasp it.
And then—he found something cold in his right hand.
He looked down.
A knife.
His breath hitched.
He didn't remember where it came from.
He didn't even remember standing up.
But there it was, in his fingers, covered in blood.
Then came the pain.
A long gash stretched across his palm, blood dripping slowly, drop… by drop… onto the floor.
He stumbled back, breath heavy, eyes widening in shock.
How…? When…?
But he couldn't think.
All he knew was that his hand was bleeding, and the knife was in his grip.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
It was fine. This wasn't new to him.
The Sirens Inside His Skull
Drops of blood trailed across the desk, staining papers, falling onto the keyboard.
His right hand—coated in crimson.
He hadn't felt anything when he cut himself, but now, the pain began to seep in, slowly, like his body was only now realizing what had happened.
Then—screaming.
A loud, piercing sound, like sirens wailing inside his skull.
No one in the office was screaming.
Yet, the sound was there, deafening, as if coming from inside him.
He clutched his ears, but it didn't stop.
He didn't know where it was coming from.
And then—
For a brief moment, he saw something in the reflection of his computer screen.
Not his own.
Something else.
A figure standing behind him.
Watching.
Waiting.
His breath caught in his throat, his pulse hammering in his ears.
He turned around—
But the room was empty.
There was no one there.
And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him.
Silently.
Waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
The Wish for an End
His fingers trembled as he gripped the edge of the desk.
His vision blurred, his heartbeat slowing as exhaustion dragged him down like an ocean current.
And for a moment—
Just a fleeting moment—
He wished for death.
Not because he wanted to escape, but because he wanted them to escape.
To be rid of him.
To finally be free from the burden of a son who couldn't go a single day without causing trouble.
But the worst part?
Deep down, he knew this wasn't over.
Because the whispers hadn't stopped.
And neither had the thing that was watching him.