[Seeking conversations of the past]

tw: mentions of suicide

———xxx———

"Are you... in a bad mood, perhaps, Lucas?"

The man had returned home, soaked head to toe in water as it dripped from with body, and a sour expression of having been scammed on his indifferent features. He dropped a few bags of simple groceries onto the clean counter and slumped into a chair.

A white beluga under one arm, and a young boy with tender, round eyes that followed quickly behind.

He nodded. "I met an idiot. An idiotic thief."

"Did they steal something important?" wondered the woman worriedly, sitting in a nearby chair—old, worn-out fabric that seemed to have been taken off the streets.

"Yeah, but it's fine. I'll get it back later."

"You know who they are?"

"Unfortunately."

Nora smiled in relief. If it was somebody that the other was somewhat familiar with, then the object that was stolen wouldn't be completely lost, at least.

She glanced around, letting the other sulk silently in his seat. 

She'd noticed it when she first entered, but there was something incredibly lacking about this small apartment. Empty floors, cabinets filled with nothing but one or two plates, and absolutely no substance.

It lacked life.

And Nora couldn't help but wonder why that was so.

"How long have you lived here, Lucas?" asked the woman softly.

The other shrugged. "Almost a decade now."

A decade of nothing, no memories, no items. It must've been a lonely time, to stay in this small space that seemed almost abandoned. Of course, she didn't want to jump to conclusions—perhaps this was how he enjoyed living.

Yet in watching this stranger she'd only just met, she was overwhelmed by a creeping, faint pulse of powerful sadness, hidden within snowy eyes.

She sighed. 

Currently, it wasn't really her business, and he seemed to have no intention of letting anybody pass those sturdy walls he'd built. "What do you plan to do?"

Lucas glanced over. What he lacked the most right now was power, and he needed something that would quickly allow him to rise in heights. There was obviously no potion or magic that could make him invincible, but he could at least come pretty close.

The benefit of an author—what he knew surpassed all others.

Hidden powers, secret rules; all fell into his open palms.

There was a person who could grant him power.

Or, it might not be quite accurate to call her a 'human' anymore, plagued by the apocalypse and turned into a walking Title.

Some called her a witch, a mockery and disgrace of what a human had once been. Others called her a reaper, insanity following her wake.

For Lucas, all that she needed to be was useful. Because he too, could be useful for her.

The Joker of Ruined Sanity.

Her human name unknown, the Joker was cursed and murdered by a Story, manipulated to become something that wasn't alive or dead. 

She became an object, a part of the cursed world. Many people sought her ability, but she wasn't something easily controlled.

The only one who could claim her Title were those she chose to enter a contract with.

What he needed to find was 'Contract Paper'. It wasn't rare, but difficult to find in the beginning stages of apocalypse.

There should've been a store, around an hour away where he could find a trading store that opened up. They were run by merchants, likely owners of their own story, selling equipment to humans.

All the stores were in inconvenient and strange places, but they'd be marked down once discovered, shared with all of humanity.

He glanced at the stuffed toy in his arms. They would likely agree to making a trade with a rarer item compared to the basic sheets of paper.

"Let's prepare for the next Story."

It was unknown what terrors they'd face next, but Cinderella had undoubtedly been one of the easiest. The next time, more would die, in increasingly terrible ways.

"How do you want to prepare?"

He scrolled through his phone. "There are some sightings of a mysterious store opening up. We'll take a look—if it's part of the apocalypse's schemes, then there might be some useful items."

Nora thought about it before agreeing. "Is there any way of predicting what Story we'll fall into next?"

"None. It's a matter of luck. We entered Cinderella because we happened to be in that area. Other locations would've been forced to enter their first game of varying difficulties."

He also noticed something else in his building. There was a couple with a young baby that lived next door, often stirring up such a racket that he wouldn't be able to sleep at night. But right now, there wasn't a single sound.

The entire building was shrouded in an eerie silence, which only felt creepier considering that it was old, and the walls were thin and peeling.

He paused, then walked into the kitchen to open a drawer. It was the only one that had anything in it, and he pulled out two large knives.

"Take this," said Lucas, crouching down to the little boy who'd sat on the couch where he was sitting earlier. "Don't lose it. Put it somewhere easy to take out. This could save your life."

Then he turned to Nora, unwrapping the holster and handing back the guns. "Keep it. I don't know if we'll be separated next time."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't need it."

After examining his eyes and noticing the resolute confidence in them, she conceded and accepted the weapons. Lucas took another glance over the hollow space that he'd lived in for a decade.

Although the time had been long, he had no attachments to the place. Who knew when he'd return, or if he'd be alive to make it back.

They hoisted the shopping bags down to the cars, and Lucas stopped by his neighbours' apartments to take a look inside. One of the doors—the one to the loud family—was unlocked. It was the complete opposite own, creating a striking contrast.

Various colours that were neatly organized on the counters and shelves, and a well-maintained living room that gave an air of comfortable coziness, plants sitting sweetly in the corners. There were a few little stuffed toys lying around, most likely for their child.

It brimmed with life, seeping to the edges of decorated windows and fluffy rugs. Lucas fell into a short daze before rapping lightly on the open door.

"Hello?"

There was no answer, so he fully entered, a hand gripping the knife tightly.

Somebody had scattered items across the carpet chaotically, directly ruining the neat and clean atmosphere. Most from the earthquake's trembles, but there were toys torn and things ripped apart as if human hands had done it.

"Is anybody there?"

He carefully stepped over shattered plates, a creeping chill running over his skin. 

No sound greeted him, only bitter silence.

A gust of wind brushed the groove of his ear, and he turned to see the slightly ajar balcony doors. There was an odd smell in the air that mixed around and dispersed among the breeze, but remained vague.

The smell of... copper?

Lucas narrowed his eyes into slits at the bedroom door before slowly stepping forward, curling his fingers around the handle and pushing it open.

His eyes dilated, and he froze where he stood.

A bloody mess greeted him, red stains smeared over the white bedcovers, and items knocked over everywhere. He flicked on the light, fully taking in the horrible sight.

The worse thing, however, wasn't the blood but the corpse that sat hunched over on the bed, wrists loosely flipped as torn pictures surrounded it. 

A pale, gaunt face that had likely been dead for several hours now—the skin was still slightly warm and soft. Streaks of dried tears imprinted onto his cheeks.

After confirming that the man was truly dead, Lucas approached the photos, lifting them up at the clean corners.

He recognized the happy couple, and the sweet infant in their arms, playing around and joyous in every image. They'd been loud for this place that had thin walls, but he didn't despise them despite getting annoyed at times.

After all, wasn't the sound of family and love something comfortable to hear?

He looked around for anything else, spotting the bloody knife in the man's hands and the wound that gaped from his wrists. Finally, Lucas closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Suicide.

From the looks of it, the man's wife and child likely met their end in the Story that they were in, and he tore things up, going mad after before finally deciding to kill himself. 

 It was a tragic, yet common occurrence.

If Nora hadn't heard it, that meant the man had been sitting quietly for hours alone before finally deciding to take his life.

For some people, after losing everything they strove to protect, they would decide it wasn't worth living anymore.

Lucas stepped forward and closed the man's red, half-open eyes before returning to the kitchen to wash the blood off his hands. Even though his hands were clean, there was still the sticky sensation of something covering it.

Perhaps the psychological weight; a mental delusion created from what he'd seen.