The rain outside the window never shouted.
It always came with long, melancholic whispers. Drop after drop tapping against the glass with the same rhythm every night.
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Like invisible fingers knocking on a door, asking for permission to enter a warmth that had never existed inside this room.
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The streetlights in this small town on the outskirts cast a dull orange glow through the misty rain, creating blurry circles that hung in the air like giant blind eyeballs, staring everywhere without truly seeing anything.
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The dormitory room sat on the third floor of an old red brick building that had stood for nearly two centuries.
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Its walls were thick, painted a pale white, made of stone and plaster cracked in many places.
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In weather like this at the end of the year, cold that pierced the bone, the air inside the room felt colder than the air outside.
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As if the ancient building deliberately trapped the cold, storing it in every pore of its bricks and every crack in its wooden floors, to torment its inhabitants who had never truly been wanted by anyone.
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The central heater in the corner of the room, a rusted metal box that hissed softly all night long, produced only a shallow warmth, not enough to drive away the cold that crept from the wooden floor into the bones of the feet.
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Voltase Watt lay on his back on a bed far too large for his body.
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The body of a thin boy, shorter than the average of children his age, where his body lacked the nutrition and protein to grow any further.
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His shoulders were narrow, so narrow that the navy striped flannel pajamas he wore kept slipping off his left shoulder.
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His arms were thin, with faint blue veins visible beneath pale skin that rarely saw sunlight.
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His short legs could never reach the end of the bed, and every night he felt the tips of his cold toes touching the empty air beneath the blanket.
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He had bought those pajamas three years ago, and even then they had been too big for his small body.
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Sometimes he thought that perhaps his body simply could not find a reason to grow, because growing required attention, nutrition, love, and he had never had enough of any of those.
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No one will notice whether you're here or not, he thought.
The thought felt ordinary in his head, not a piercing sadness, but a fact he had accepted long ago, ever since his mind was old enough to understand that he was a burden moved from one place to another.
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Things do not grow.
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He never knew his biological parents.
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Voltase was a baby found on the doorstep of an orphanage in South London on a cold winter morning, wrapped in a faded blue blanket with a piece of paper bearing his name and birthdate.
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Nothing else.
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No letter, no message, no clue about who had left him there or why they had gone.
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He grew up in that orphanage for five years, changing caretakers and beds and faces that came and went.
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Then a family came and chose him, a polite, well dressed couple who said the right things in front of the social worker.
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They took him to their home in the suburbs, gave him his own room, food, clothes.
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But they never truly wanted him.
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He knew it from the way they looked at him, not with hatred, but with indifference.
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As if he were an obligation, a task to be completed.
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When he turned ten, they sent him to this boarding school.
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An elegant, polite way to get rid of a burden without appearing cruel.
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They paid his school fees.
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They sent birthday cards, store bought cards with printed text identical for everyone.
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But they never visited.
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They never called.
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Voltase was a receipt already paid in full, an obligation fulfilled.
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Now he was left here, in this cold room, in a country that was supposedly his birthplace but never felt like his own.
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You have no one, he thought, and he said it with lips that did not move, only inside his head.
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You have never had anyone.
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And you will never have anyone.
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Voltase had counted those cracks on the ceiling every night for two years since he first arrived in this room.
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The number of main branches was always twenty three.
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Never changing.
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The small branches varied, depending on the humidity of the night air, the temperature, whether the rain fell harder than usual.
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Tonight he counted forty three small branches, counting with his thin right index finger, tracing the crack patterns in the air without actually touching the wood.
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If he touched it, he would feel the cold of the plaster and remember that he was still here.
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In the distance, the bells of St. Mary's church at the end of the street began to ring.
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The sound was old and heavy, with a slightly off key tone from age and dampness.
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Voltase counted each chime because there was nothing else he could do.
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The bells stopped at the ninth chime, and silence returned, filled only by the patter of rain that never stopped here.
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Voltase reached his right hand toward the small table beside his bed.
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The table was made of cheap wood, chipped in places, its surface covered with scratches from pens and pencils of children who had been here before him.
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On it lay the cheap phone given by his foster family when he left for boarding school, a symbolic gesture so they could still keep in touch, and a small desk lamp he never turned on.
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His long, thin fingers groped across the table's surface until they touched the phone.
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The screen lit up.
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Pale blue light illuminated his face for a few seconds.
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The time showed 21:49 PM.
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He opened the game he was playing.
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The app was colorful and bright, with the main character's icon smiling widely, a boy with black hair and oversized onyx eyes, with a smile that never faded.
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Voltase almost hated that smile.
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That character never got tired, never got sad, never felt alone.
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He just ran, collected coins, dodged trains, and smiled the whole time.
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His right thumb swiped the screen, and the game began.
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Cheerful electronic music flowed from the phone's speaker, trying to drown out the sound of rain, while the character started moving along the railway tracks with a synthetic sunset sky full of orange and purple gradients stretching behind him.
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Golden coins sparkled in the air, and every time the character collected them there was a satisfying ding sound.
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Voltase played mechanically.
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His thumb swiped left, jumped, swiped right, ducked.
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The score in the upper right corner climbed, 240, 480, 710, 930.
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He did not care about the score or the character.
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The only thing he needed was the sound.
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The music was a thin curtain separating him from the silence of the room, from the patter of rain, from the awareness that he was truly alone in this world and no one would come to save him.
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On the right side of the screen, a second character appeared, a grown man in a white long sleeved shirt and a faded blue jacket, wearing a security guard's hat tilted back, and beside him a digital sheepdog ran at the same speed, its tongue lolling in a repeating animation.
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The three of them ran together.
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A fake family in a fake world.
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They are not real, Voltase thought, just code, they can never feel anything.
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They are never alone because they never existed.
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At 1,230 points, the obstacles increased.
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Train cars came faster and denser from both directions.
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Voltase's small fingers began to sweat, making the touchscreen feel slippery and sticky.
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His main character stumbled, a repeated falling animation, got up, stumbled again, while the score stopped climbing and the music shifted into anxious, stretching notes.
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A giant steel train car passed right in front of the character.
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Bam!
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The screen turned blurry red, with a crimson gradient encircling the edges.
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Thick black ink pooled in the corners.
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White bold text appeared in the center.
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GAME OVER.
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Voltase let out a breath.
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The breath left his small chest as a faint, almost inaudible sigh, like wind slipping through a crack in a door that did not close properly.
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He pressed the home button, and the phone screen dimmed to black, reflecting his own face, the face of a thin child with weary onyx eyes, cheekbones beginning to protrude, and messy black hair.
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He put the phone on the table with a slow, reluctant movement, as if letting go of the phone meant letting go of the only thing distracting him from the silence.
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Silence returned.
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Rain returned.
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He was still here.
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Still small and alone.
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Voltase closed his eyes.
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In the darkness behind his eyelids, he imagined another place.
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A place where he had a big, strong body that did not need to be afraid of other children mocking him in the school hallways.
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A place where he could become something, become someone meaningful, someone who could not be ignored.
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But the image was vague, like smoke vanishing before he could grasp it.
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He did not know what a big body looked like.
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He had never had one.
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He only knew that he wanted it, something more than this thin, weak, useless body.
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Slowly, exhaustion consumed him.
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His body curled up in the middle of the too large bed, knees drawn to his chest, arms hugging a pillow that had become dull and smelled of dormitory laundry soap, sharp and chemical.
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The rain kept tapping the window.
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The wind moaned among the old oak trees in the schoolyard.
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His consciousness began to blur, sinking into a dark, warm abyss.
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The clock showed 22:01 PM.
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Three minutes since he turned off the phone.
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Voltase Watt, a twelve year old boy who did not know who his parents were, who had no home to return to, who had never been loved by anyone, began to fall into a dream.
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The first thing that registered through his sense of smell was the stench.
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Not the musty, dusty smell of the dormitory room.
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This was a completely different smell, one he had never smelled before, yet somehow felt old, as if he had smelled it in another life, in a memory that was not his.
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The smell entered his nostrils like thick, heavy smoke.
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It crept inside uninvited.
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Stabbed the back of his throat like swallowed glass shards.
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Settled on the roof of his mouth, leaving a residue that felt like a layer of copper on his tongue, salty, metallic, and with a faint sweetness that was nauseating.
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Beneath it lay another layer: a sharp, fishy stench like fish left too long in the sun, and the smell of wet earth mixed with something darker, thicker.
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Blood, he thought, and the thought rose from the depths of an instinct he had not known he possessed.
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The smell of blood.
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A lot of blood and flesh.
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Rotting flesh.
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Voltase opened his eyes.
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The darkness he saw was not the darkness of his dormitory room.
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This was total darkness, darkness that rejected light, darkness that felt solid like wet velvet pressed against his face.
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His eyes blinked, adjusting, but the adjustment was slow, as if his pupils had to relearn how to catch light.
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Slowly, silhouettes began to emerge.
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He saw a shape above him, very close, only inches from his own nose.
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A face.
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But not the face of a living human.
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The skin of that face was ashen green, pale like dried clay beginning to crack.
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On its left cheek was a large tear exposing the tissue beneath, a layer of dark red that had begun to blacken at the edges, like beef left too long in the refrigerator, its fibers drying and shriveling.
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On its chin was thin brown stubble, with flakes of dry earth clinging between the hair strands.
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Its eyes, or what remained of them, were two dark hollows.
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No eyeballs.
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Just black holes filled with small, writhing movements.
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Voltase saw them clearly, maggots.
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Dozens, maybe hundreds of small pale yellowish bodies, segmented, with darker heads, writhing inside those eye sockets.
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They rose and fell like tiny waves that never stopped, eating the remaining tissue still clinging to the orbital bone.
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Some were larger than others, fatter and whiter, perhaps because they had been there longer and had eaten more.
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One of them crawled out of the left eye socket, across the corpse's cheekbone, and fell right onto Voltase's cheek.
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He felt it.
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Cold, Damp, and Writhing.
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That small soft body clung to his skin for a second, then began to crawl slowly downward toward his jaw.
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Voltase felt every movement of that body, every small muscle contraction pushing it forward, every segment rubbing against his skin.
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At that moment, panic exploded inside him.
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Pure, primal panic that recognized no logic or reason.
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He wanted to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat.
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He wanted to push, but his hands felt foreign and heavy.
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Because he realized: his body had become different.
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His hands pushing the corpse away felt longer and heavier.
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His fingers were no longer long and thin.
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He felt protruding knuckles, long and sturdy finger joints, a wide palm with blue veins clearly visible on the back.
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When he pushed the corpse away, the muscles in his arms, muscles he had never possessed in the real world, contracted with surprising strength.
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He felt the stretch of muscle fibers, pressure in his shoulders, and the weight of the body he pushed felt lighter than it should have.
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The corpse rolled to the side with a wet, heavy plop, like a bag of wet meat falling onto mud.
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Its head hit something hard, maybe a rock, maybe another skull, with a dull crack.
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Voltase coughed, choked, and sat up straight with a jolting movement.
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He sat up, no need to crawl or roll. He just bent his body upward, and the body obeyed, while the maggot writhing on his cheek had fallen to the ground.
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His chest felt heavy, broad, and wide. His back felt solid.
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His shoulders were now thick and muscular.
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He looked down and saw his own body.
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A uniform.
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A long sleeved shirt in faded blue, made of thick wool fabric that was coarse and slightly damp from dew or blood.
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Small metal buttons lined up down the center of his chest. Some were undone, and beneath the undone buttons he saw an undershirt in wet gray.
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On his left shoulder was a patch bearing an emblem he did not recognize: an eagle with spread wings, its claws grasping something that looked like a snake.
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The patch was faded, its edges torn.
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Blue trousers tucked into tall dark brown boots that felt heavy on his feet.
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The boots were made of thick leather with hard soles. He felt small studs on the soles when he moved his feet over the ground.
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Loose metal buckles on the tops of the boots swung gently as he moved.
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Voltase raised his right hand in front of his face.
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The hand trembled violently.
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He could see it clearly, and it was not his hand.
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The hand was long, thin but muscular, with blue veins prominent on the back.
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The fingers were slender with prominent knuckles and short nails dirty with black earth drying beneath them.
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There was a small wound on his middle knuckle, a scrape still wet with fresh blood, perhaps from a fight that happened before he woke up.
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His palm was wide with deep, clear lifelines.
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At the base of his thumb was a thick callus formed from years of holding something. It could be a weapon or a tool, he did not know.
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This was an adult man's hand.
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A strong hand.
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A hand that could never belong to a weak, thin twelve year old boy.
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He pressed his palm to his chest.
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Beneath the thick wool fabric, he felt the contour of hard chest muscles, broad pectorals with wide ribs beneath them.
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And beneath those muscles, he felt a heartbeat.
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Thump, thump.
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Thump, thump.
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A deeper, stronger, heavier heart.
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Each beat felt like a hammer striking the wall of his chest from inside.
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This is not my body, he thought.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuFb0NS3SXM
The thought sounded foreign in his head, deeper, heavier, with the resonance of an adult man he did not recognize.
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This body is not mine.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPbbXYEQvtz
I am inside someone else's body.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5CZNkwlaNy
I am trapped inside someone else's flesh.
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How can this be?
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He wanted to scream, to call someone, to ask what was happening, but his voice only came out as a hoarse breath caught in his throat, like the voice of someone who had just woken from a long sleep and had not yet found his words.
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He straightened his body, rising from his current sitting position.
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His knees wobbled at first. The long, strong leg muscles felt strange, unused to supporting this much weight, but he forced himself to stand.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2J46tvFsUn
Eye level was now above the piles of corpses around him.
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He could see far across the field, farther than he had ever seen in his short, narrow life.
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The body was now tall, a hundred and eighty centimeters or more.
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When he looked down, he saw the long distance between his chest and the ground, a distance he had never experienced before.
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His long, sturdy legs felt foreign, like poles newly attached beneath his body.
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Every step felt like walking on an unstable stage.
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He felt his body's weight differently.
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Gravity felt lighter on his bones, perhaps because his bones were now larger and stronger, but his muscles felt heavier and denser.
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There was strength there, potential for movement he had never explored.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSDREBc0Odw
He felt that this body could run faster, punch harder, endure longer than his thin, weak body.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQAK2nMXlgU
But that strength must have its price, something he was always aware of, that nothing in this world was free.
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Instead, he felt strange after obtaining this body.
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Like a thief who had stolen something precious and did not know how to use it, where every movement felt like a violation.
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Whose body is this? The question repeated in his head like a mantra.
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Where is he?
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Is he dead?
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Did I take his body?
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Did I kill him?
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He looked around.
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Above him was not the cloudy gray English sky always ready to rain. The sky here was pitch black, blacker than the hollows in the corpse's eye sockets.
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No stars, moon, or glowing clouds.
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Just a black canvas stretching endlessly, as if someone had covered the entire world with thick velvet and forgotten it there, leaving it hanging without end.
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But beneath that gloomy sky, there was enough light.
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Perhaps from reflections off puddles of liquid on the ground that cast a dim gleam.
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Remnants of fires long dead in the distance, still emitting thin smoke and red sparks beneath the ash.
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The source of the light was unclear, but it was enough for Voltase to see the sight that would sear itself onto his retina forever, burned there like a photograph exposed to sunlight.
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Around him, as far as he could see, there were only bodies.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw1mVC95Hj3
Hundreds, maybe thousands, impossible to count.
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They lay in chaotic piles like rag dolls thrown by an angry giant and then forgotten.
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Some were stacked on top of each other, forming small hills reaching up to an adult's waist.
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Some piles were higher, reaching chest height.
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Voltase noticed that the piles moved.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfGA4xNmAb5
Not moving like living things, but moving because of the maggots and flies writhing inside them, creating small waves on the surface of the flesh.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtBUXbAYIbe
Some bodies lay alone, separated from the piles, with arms bent at impossible angles.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzA4phBftMq
Elbows twisted the wrong way.
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Fingers clutching empty earth as if they were still trying to crawl in death, still trying to escape something that had caught them.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGTD3jv3C4k
Some had intact faces with wide open eyes staring at the black sky, expressions of fear frozen forever in the rigid muscles of their faces.
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Some had no faces at all.
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Just red, glistening hollows inhabited by maggots and flies, with remnants of flesh clinging to skull bones like unraveling threads.
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Their uniforms varied.
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Most wore faded blue, like Voltase.
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Many wore pale green, the color of dead moss, a faded, dull green gray like leaves already rotting in an autumn that lasted too long.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQcmiTFZEt4
Some others, fewer in number, wore ash, the color of gunpowder dust, or ash left after fire dies.
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Those three colors mixed in this pile of death without pattern, without meaning, just chaotic horror.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhExtW7ZoIZ
Often he saw blue bodies lying on top of green bodies, or gray bodies wedged between two blue bodies.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcG4DeR2GWI
Nothing was ordered.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRxfHjBwioR
Nothing was intentional.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxMMfTwBlJm
They died where they fell, and they fell where they died.
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The ground beneath Voltase's feet felt soft, not like the hard earth of the school garden, not like the wooden floor of his room.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu9k9vWqPqy
He looked down and saw his boots sinking several centimeters into a brown black surface.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmwWinTDnL9
It was mud, but not ordinary mud.
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This mud was mixed with something darker, thicker, denser.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtn9LiU2cXV
Blood.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD8205BylXw
This ground was not earth.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnv231a6SJs
It was a layer of flesh and bodily fluids that had soaked into the soil, mixed with mud, forming a new, horrific layer.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVHOxk2DMOu
When he moved his boots, there was a wet squelch, the sound of liquid squeezed out from the pores of the earth like water from an oversaturated sponge.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAA8YDSksNC
He saw small white fragments among the black mud.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2SgdzcJ5zG
Bone fragments.
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Broken rib pieces with sharp ends.
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Severed finger joints still bearing remnants of flesh at the joints.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzvEMhA41Gl
Shattered skull fragments with pinkish inner surfaces from residual brain tissue.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOlhHBbmArg
There were also torn fabric pieces, dull glinting metal buttons scattered among the mud, and undone shoelaces uncoiled like dead snakes.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3YM3flqjyq
The stench here was not uniform.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIWUsQ21dC1
It came in waves.
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Sometimes sharp and stinging like ammonia burning the nose.
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Sometimes sweet and nauseating like overripe flowers beginning to rot.
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Sometimes like old iron scraped across the tongue, leaving a metallic taste he could not get rid of.
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Every time the wind blew, cold, damp night wind, the smell changed, shifted, found new ways to torment his senses.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPeQxnfRxi9
Voltase covered his nose with the back of his new, long hand, but the smell entered through his mouth, through his skin, through every pore of his now large but still vulnerable body.
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He felt it behind his eyes, in his sinuses, at the back of his throat.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm35Z7bnAbK
The smell became part of the air he breathed. He could not separate himself from it.
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In the distance, he heard something.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTX6kIVr56T
Not the sound of rain. The sound was a crack, like a twig snapping.
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Voltase froze.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRojhZBsKyo
He held his breath, that deep, heavy breath from this adult man's lungs, and tried to listen more carefully.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ02EPyyB29y
But his own heartbeat was too loud, too thunderous.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0Fe8rzUMhT
Thump, thump.
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Thump, thump.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6rrNaSCa7O
This heart was like a war drum inside his broad chest, and he could not stop it.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMU8ddQbgqx
Then, he saw movement.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhqE15mJGXg
Among the pile of corpses to his left, about ten meters away, the pile shook.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtoGr2UkEHs
Not from the wind. The wind would not move a pile of flesh that heavy.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0cPRSlC1c2
Something inside it was moving.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVuAiDycVks
An arm emerged.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnjd8HyABCm
An arm that still had intact skin, pale but not rotting, with muscles still tense beneath the skin's surface.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxlxHhqwRtr
The fingers of that hand grasped the air, then pulled, pushed the bodies above them.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3ncY4YpMqt
Those bodies shifted, rolled, fell aside with wet sounds.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6A7gc0Es5U
From that pile, a man's figure emerged.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNfVPxCcwxC
He rose with stiff, mechanical movements, like a wooden puppet whose strings were pulled by an invisible hand.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMUBkrNxs2h
He brushed dust and dried flesh scraps from his uniform, pale green, the same green worn by many corpses around him.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6UgL5g3xWW
The fabric was torn in several places, and on his right shoulder was the same patch, the eagle or raven, but the colors were more faded, more worn, with threads beginning to unravel at the edges.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHZKy0GAyKE
On his left arm was a large tear exposing the skin beneath, pale skin with an old, dried wound.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUemJJORHEt
The man was tall, almost as tall as Voltase.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC9sQwU2PmL
His face was gaunt, with a firm jaw and prominent cheekbones.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRLIMILmvme
His hair was dirty blond, short and unkempt, with sideburns slightly elongated beside his ears.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMXVmdgc6yy
His dark eyes, dark like Voltase's eyes in the real world, stared directly at him.
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The stare was unfriendly.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpfLcxNrjsR
Full of suspicion, confusion, and beneath it, a layer of fear trying to hide behind a tightening jaw and pursed lips.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuQnQt8suW2
They faced each other.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6eL0hgzhdy
Two adult figures in the middle of a sea of death.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFz2mw0amcX
Cold night wind blew between them, carrying the stench of rot and old gunpowder smoke.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmvXuxJOZY4
Voltase felt the wind hit his face, carrying his long, dirty hair dancing around his eyes.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwMaprihqdh
The man did not speak.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡG9lfS8zT0G
He just stared, eyes narrowing, measuring whether Voltase was a threat or just another survivor.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHOBZe3tmy5
He examined Voltase's faded blue uniform, then examined his face.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXeDWrllYMo
Perhaps searching for recognition.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp7RtanQgge
Trying to remember if he had ever seen this face before.
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But there was no recognition in his eyes.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLcnxyTdl1V
Only deepening suspicion.
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Slowly, he bent down.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQjGFT36YRM
His dirty fingers, crusted with dried blood beneath the nails, groped among the pile of corpses.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPFU1PPGuSr
He pushed some bodies aside, shifted others, and finally pulled something from beneath the pile.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNiwiYzCasX
A long object.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFMM230Py3l
Voltase recognized the shape even though he had never seen one directly outside the history books in the school library.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0VwQp4iUcR
An old wooden stock, darkened by oil and covered with scratches and deep grooves from grips.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6L6OFZMVj0
The wood was worn, its fibers peeling in places but still solid. He could see that the stock had been used for years, perhaps decades, by people he would never know.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKA2iaBdqXs
A long, slender barrel of dark metal, gleaming dully under the dim light, with grooves along its surface to reduce weight.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTp3XqDlDkc
Beneath it, just in front of the curved trigger made of the same metal with a finger groove, a small box magazine jutted out like a second jaw, loaded with ready to fire bullets.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡURYEId0EY6
And at the end of the barrel, he saw a locking mechanism, small grooves and metal protrusions, designed to attach a bayonet.
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It was a heavy, ancient, deadly rifle.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡatxJ1StQ7k
A rifle that had killed more people than he could imagine.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfCpcDKKbbh
The man aimed the muzzle at Voltase's chest.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsZeNkrcwbF
Voltase's reflexes acted before his thoughts could formulate a strategy.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5Q2f5kFWPh
Both his hands, the long, sturdy hands of an adult man, rose up, palms open wide, in the universal gesture of surrender.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8A9KT0eF1a
His heart pounded in this new chest, and he felt its beat at his temples and at the tips of his trembling fingers.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZi2EJ7KMXe
"Wait," he said, and his voice came out as a deep, hoarse baritone, a voice he had never heard before, a voice emerging from this chest.
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"I do not know where this is."
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7OvnOwjpb9
"I do not know what is happening."
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"I just woke up."
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The man did not answer.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk2RRHGwyJl
His eyes narrowed further, examining Voltase's faded blue uniform, then his face, watching Voltase's lips move, hearing his words.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRulY3Fazzw
But there was no response.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6LfvHfP7OK
Perhaps he did not believe him.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIB5hXFlk1g
Perhaps he had seen too many tricks in this place to trust anyone.
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The man began to step forward.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMJZ7Bd0TaB
One step.
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Two steps.
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The muzzle stayed aimed exactly at Voltase's chest.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVBK16AOkBe
Each step the man took was torture.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnyhE8Dd5cH
Voltase heard the squeak of the man's boots on the bloody mud.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpcwGIDdnSq
He saw every scratch on the rifle's wooden stock, every peeling fiber, every deep groove.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyqo4Y5KX87
He saw the man's finger on the trigger, a steady finger that did not tremble, a finger accustomed to the weight and pressure of pulling.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsSCIOyDFEC
The voice in his head whispered.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBJtFZSQxdh
If you do not move, you die.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrRKtsuxZcd
You die here, in this place.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8ZkkPnlq3m
And you will never return to your dormitory room. No one will come looking for you.
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No one will care.
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You will just be another corpse in this pile.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiKTP6WSvGq
The thought of the world's indifference, about foster parents who never called, about teachers who did not know his name, about the empty room with only the cracks on the ceiling, gave Voltase a strange strength.
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He had nothing to lose in the real world.
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No one would mourn him if he died.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡONx1ANFrcf
But here, in this strong body, he might survive.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtlbVwTUPM8
He might become something.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2RD2wPqOim
And he moved.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtUvcZjbDuD
His tall, powerful body shot forward, faster than he had imagined.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAhta2bn4VF
The muscles in his legs, muscles he had never possessed, contracted with surprising strength, propelling him forward in an instant.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOOoWNN69YN
His long hand grabbed the end of the rifle's barrel before the man could react.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLNMpN3JCJL
The metal was cold, very cold, like ice burning his skin.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaHKLXVsOlS
He felt the texture of the metal beneath his fingers, smooth in some places, rough in others from rust, and he gripped it tightly.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrAxHoDPW4A
He twisted the barrel aside, away from his chest.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJpM57koI7Y
His other hand formed a fist and swung it at the man's face.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk4beuxIgJl
The punch landed.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ32S6Xte3OU
His knuckles struck the man's cheekbone with a dull thud.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC1oOnBOAFw
Voltase felt the hard impact in his hand, pain spreading like waves from his knuckles to his wrist.
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But there was a primal satisfaction that his punch had connected.
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This was the first time in his life, both in the real world and here, he had ever hit someone with full force.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡue7Tn9IuN9
The man stumbled back, his arm bending, but he did not fall.
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His head snapped to the side, and from the corner of his mouth, a drop of blood began to flow.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfTpkH80BdY
He raised his hand to his face, touched his lip, looked at the blood on his fingertip.
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Then he looked at Voltase with changed eyes.
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Suspicion transformed into burning anger.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9ybp09dwsy
With reflexes faster than they looked, he blocked Voltase's attack with his forearm.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0reBzdq5qX
His other hand grabbed Voltase's collar and pulled him forward.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbgRrxNZZC7
At the same time, he bent his right knee and kicked forward.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5ladVPRIg1
The knee struck Voltase's stomach, and the pain exploded in his solar plexus like a bomb.
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All the air in his lungs was forced out in one gasping exhale that sounded like a long, deep groan.
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Saliva and bitter bile from his empty stomach spurted from his open mouth, wetting his chin and dripping onto the faded blue uniform.
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For a moment, the world around him spun wildly, black sky, corpses, and the man's face all mixed into a nauseating vortex.
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He tasted metal on his tongue because he had bitten his own tongue from the impact.
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Fresh blood began to flow in his mouth, mixing with the bile.
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But Voltase did not fall.
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Unlike in the real world, where he always fell when pushed by other children at school, this body was stronger, heavier.
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His long legs planted in the bloody soil as he held his ground.
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His hard, trained abdominal muscles absorbed part of the kick's impact.
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Despite the overwhelming pain, he was still standing.
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With clenched teeth, enduring the pain gnawing at his stomach like burning fire, he launched a counterattack.
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His foot with the heavy boot and hard sole swung toward the man's shin.
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He swung his leg with all his strength.
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The kick landed with a harder thud than before.
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The man stumbled, losing balance.
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His kicked leg buckled, and for a moment he seemed about to fall, grimacing in pain, his teeth clenched, his breath coming in a long hiss.
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Voltase seized the moment.
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He twisted his body, pulling the rifle barrel with all his strength.
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The wood and metal, an object weighing nearly four kilograms, tore from the man's grip.
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It flew, rolled across the pile of corpses, and fell among the rotting bodies on the other side, sinking beneath the pile of flesh.
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Now, without weapons, they faced each other equally.
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The man swung a punch at Voltase's jaw, but Voltase ducked, feeling the wind of the fist brushing his long, dirty hair.
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He answered with a punch at the man's chin, but the man tilted his head with agile movement despite his large body.
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They fought wildly, punches, kicks, elbows, and knees, in the middle of the sea of corpses.
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Dust and dried flesh scraps flew around them every time they stepped on or fell into the piles of bodies.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡesqGHxJWQi
Voltase felt blood, both the corpses' blood and his own, covering his face.
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His lower lip was split, and he tasted his own salty, metallic blood on his tongue, mixing with the copper taste from the air around him.
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This is not me, he thought between punches, but his thoughts were fragmented by pain and exhaustion.
255Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw92T9llCPR
Why am I here?
ns216.73.217.153da2 
and then Add to home screen.