The wind roared in my ears as the speedcycle's tires gripped the rugged surface, and the vast expanse of the dystopian landscape stretched endlessly before us. led the way, her silhouette blending seamlessly with the golden parasitic grass that whispered beneath our wheels. The other nomad couriers rode alongside me, and together, we carved a path of trampled grass.
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows that danced across the undulating terrain. We rode for hours, the relentless low humming of the bikes accompanying us. The golden grass bowed and swayed as we sped through, a symphony of movement produced by the wind.
The air shifted, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the distant murmur of a tranquil stream. It was a dreamlike experience compared to the smell of rotting corpses the tall grass produced earlier. We rode through the forest, the purple leaves forming a kaleidoscope above us.
Right as we were about to emerge from the forest, the distance between me and the group rapidly grew as they left the treeline. It took me a moment to realise that I was stuck in place, but the wheels of my speedcycle were still spinning, digging into the dirt floor.
Are my wheels stuck?
Just as my mind processed the thought, the trees of the forest began to collapse. The air vibrated with an otherworldly resonance as they crashed around me, their descent slow and unnatural. It was a surreal destruction that seemed organized.
As the trees fell, they consumed me, nothingness enveloped my senses. Despite everything that had unfolded, an uncanny sense of calmness had accompanied me this entire time, somnambulant even. There was no pain or pressure, just acceptance of what might have been an eternity in this nothingness.
Uncertain when or how, there was a shift that occurred which was infinitely subtle. For a while, I couldn't be bothered to open my eyes despite feeling my surroundings had changed, committing myself to the nothingness this entire time. Time seemed to warp and fold upon itself, transcending the linear constraints of reality.
As I opened my eyes, the new reality unfurled before me, yet my vision was veiled by a disorienting blur. The contours of the realm were hazy, like brushstrokes of an unfinished painting.
For a few moments, I stood in the midst of this formless expanse, my surroundings shifting and undulating. It was as if the very fabric of reality itself was in a state of inconsistency. Slowly, the haze began to dissipate, revealing a multitude of human figures scattered across the ground. Their features remained indescribable.
In the midst of these blurry silhouettes, I noticed another figure standing opposite me. As my vision gradually cleared, the form solidified into a discernible shape. A person, much like myself, stood across the void. The features were still indistinct.
A weight in my hand drew my attention downward. Clutched in my grip was a strange object... I could feel a handle with a grip, and my finger was placed inside some sort of loop.
The realization hit me with an unsettling clarity as the haze lifted, and the details of the realm sharpened. Inside my hand was something that I had never seen before, it was foreign yet recognizable. It had the weight and form of a gun, the design was peculiar, distinct from the firearms I'd encountered before.
My gaze swept across the formless landscape, and the figures on the ground revealed their true selves. They weren't vague silhouettes but multiple iterations of myself, sprawled in a pool of blood with bullet holes punctuating their lifeless forms. Looking down into my hand, I inspected the gun as my reaction to the death that surrounded me.
Was this the gun that was responsible?
Instead of loosening my grip on the gun in disgust and disbelief, my grip only tightens itself because of... nothing. Surrounded by the lifeless echoes of my own existence, I felt empty knowing that I should be in shock, the state of reverie overpowering my controls.
Whispers penetrate my skull, sending sounds directly pass my senses and into my mind. It was a whisper of a woman, the figure that stood on the opposite side of these corpses, and she remained vaguely blurry.
"No matter how many you kill, you will never be him."
Like a reflexive response, I aim the gun directly at her without any hesitation. Yet just blinking once, I found myself aiming the gun, not at the indistinct woman, but at my own head. My arm and hand moving of their own accord, defying my conscious will. I struggled against this involuntary action, attempting to resist the pull.
The reverie intensified, a disorienting blend of lucidity and lack of care. The woman's form remained indistinct, her presence a silent witness to the surreal struggle playing out before her. As I fought against the compulsion to turn the gun on myself, there was a point that came when I realised that it was too late, my finger pulling the trigger.
.
.
.
My eyes opened to the waking world. I wasn't alone. Someone stood over me, my gaze met the cold, unforgiving steel of a gun barrel, its muzzle pressed against my forehead.
