I stood at the edge of that alley, half-hidden in the shadows, watching the world move on without me. People passed by in waves, yet none seemed to notice. It wasn't just that I was invisible —it felt like I didn't belong.

Their clothes were familiar in shape, yet twisted with an eccentricity I couldn't place. A blend of practicality and excess, like something from another world.

I remained there for what felt like hours. The flow of life never stopped —indifferent, unbothered. My chest ached —not from injury, but from something deeper.

Homesickness.

It gnawed at me, quiet and relentless. A cold, empty ache spreading through my ribs, like the weight of every second without them pressed down on my lungs. My mother's voice. My father's hands. The warmth of a world I'd never see again.

Were they searching for me? Breaking apart without answers?

I clenched my fists.

"I'll return," I whispered, voice tight with a resolve that cut through the fear. "No matter what this world throws at me… I'll find my way back to them."

That promise sparked something. It didn't erase the fear —but it gave me direction. A thread to hold onto in this chaos.

The goddess had spoken of blessings —abilities, gifts, whatever they were. I hadn't tested them. Not yet.

I closed my eyes, reaching inward, searching for anything.

"Cloning."

A pulse ripped through me.

And then—he was there.

A perfect, soulless copy, staring back with vacant eyes. His posture, his breath, his every movement —identical. But he wasn't me. Just a hollow reflection. A shell.

I tilted my head; he mirrored it. I smirked; he smirked too. Too perfect. Too wrong.

"…Huh. So it actually works," I muttered, half amused, half disturbed.

Part of me wanted to laugh, make some dumb comment —but nothing about this felt like fiction anymore.

I left the alley with the clone at my side. The city unfolded in grotesque beauty —neon lights bleeding into the smog-choked sky, casting sickly hues over towers of steel and glass. Buildings loomed like silent sentinels, watching everything below.

A sleek, military-grade vehicle dropped from the clouds, hovering over the road with a predatory silence. It landed with surgical precision —a jarring disruption to the rhythm of the street.

Soldiers stepped out in formation. Their uniforms were militarized, yet ceremonial —ornate, almost theatrical. Laser rifles in hand. Eyes sharp. Predators in human skin.

Then came the last figure —older, skeletal, wrapped in a long officer's coat. He didn't walk. He hovered. Authority and malice bleeding from every movement.

"We've reached the zone, Research General," one soldier reported.

"Excellent," the old man replied, voice sharp and surgical. "Find the lost product. We can't afford more delays."

"Understood."

The General raised a device to his mouth.

"Commence Operation Black Swan."

The unit dispersed into buildings like a disease spreading through a body. Seconds later, gunfire erupted in the distance. Screams followed. No one resisted. No one questioned.

I ducked behind a pillar, heart pounding. My clone mirrored my panic.

I didn't know who they were. But everything about them screamed wrong.

Cold. Systematic. Merciless.

Then I saw her.

Dragged from a storefront by one of the soldiers —a girl, no older than ten. Pale white hair. Bones jutting under paper-thin skin. She wore a medical gown, soaked in dried blood. Her feet scraped the concrete like trash being pulled across the floor.

The soldier dumped her in front of the General.

"Target recovered."

She didn't move.

My breath caught.

My fists trembled.

Do something, my mind screamed.

But my legs wouldn't move.

I was afraid. Afraid of pain. Of dying again. Of breaking all over.

I hated myself for hesitating.

But that hate —it started to burn.

Something inside cracked. Maybe it was just rage.

I stepped forward.

My voice trembled, but I forced the words out.

"What the hell do you think you're doing to that girl?"

The soldiers turned. One raised his weapon and fired —a warning shot.

The beam scorched the ground beside me.

"Next one goes through your chest," he growled.

"Wait," the Research General interjected, stepping forward with a suspicious gaze. "Identification?"

He circled me like a vulture.

"Everyone in the empire has a neck code. You don't."

The air turned to ice.

"Wanderer," he spat. "You know what we do to your kind."

I didn't respond. Didn't care anymore.

My eyes stayed locked on the girl.

And without realizing it… my clone moved.

It darted forward, fast as lightning, struck the soldier, snatched the girl and sprinted toward the alley.

For a second, it felt real —hope, pure and burning in my chest.

Then—

BANG.

The shot cracked the air like thunder.

The clone crumpled mid-run, a hole punched through its spine, smoke curling from its corpse. The girl fell with it —a fragile body tumbling like a broken doll.

My legs froze.

The hope inside me shattered.

"…No," I whispered.

Tears welled up. My body trembled.

I couldn't even save one innocent soul.

The soldiers walked toward the bodies.

"General… the girl's dead."

Silence.

Then a cold fury twisted the old man's face.

"You imbecile."

He pulled his pistol and fired point-blank into the soldier's skull. The body collapsed, faceless and limp.

"…Fine. This one will suffice."

He turned to me.

"Take him."

A blow struck the back of my neck. I staggered, but didn't fall.

I let myself drop anyway.

Let them think I was out cold.

As they dragged me away, I heard one soldier ask:

"What about the bodies?"

The General waved dismissively. "Trash. Dispose of them."

"Sir… was that his brother?"

"Tch. Irrelevant."

That's how easily life is discarded here.

No dignity.No meaning.Just tools.Just waste.

As the vehicle ascended into the smog-drenched sky, my mind clung to one thought:

I'll never forget this day.

I'll never be this weak again.

Never.