The room was swallowed in darkness—silent, suffocating. Not even shadows dared move. For a moment, everything stood still.
Then, a gunshot tore through the stillness.
A man collapsed to the floor, blood soaking into the worn wooden planks beneath him. Dead.
The other man in the room remained frozen, eyes wide—not in shock, not in sorrow. Instead, tears rolled down his face, slow and deliberate. But they carried no grief—only disappointment.
"You were my best opponent," he muttered. "Now that you're gone… there's nothing fun left in this world."
With that, he raised the gun to his own head.
Another shot.
…
…
…
Kavir, age 25.
He awoke to the dull light of morning creeping through the cracked blinds. His hair, long and tangled, veiled most of his face, sticking to his clammy skin. He didn't bother fixing it.
Dragging himself out of bed, he threw on his stained waiter uniform and slipped out the back door of his crumbling apartment.
He arrived at the restaurant just on time—barely.
"You got lucky today, man," one of his coworkers smirked, patting him on the shoulder.
Kavir didn't respond. He never did.
Hours passed in monotony. Then, the front door swung open, and the entire staff seemed to freeze. A couple entered—young, arrogant, and infamous among the staff for their toxic energy. No one wanted to deal with them.
"Kavir," someone whispered. "Your turn."
He didn't protest.
Tray in hand, Kavir approached their table. As he laid down the menus, the girl sneered, scanning his unkempt hair covering most of his face.
"You must be really ugly under all that," she said with a cruel laugh. "Hiding from the world, huh?"
Kavir stood still, unreadable.
The boy leaned back in his chair, clearly annoyed by Kavir's lack of reaction. He grabbed his glass of water and splashed it across Kavir's chest.
"Oops. My hand slipped."
Kavir looked down at the soaked uniform, then up at the smirking couple.
"It's okay, sir," he said calmly. "You two are valuable customers. You bring in so many new girls and boys… always hand in hand."
He paused.
"If you don't believe me, maybe check each other's phones."
The moment those words landed, the couple's expressions twisted.
Ten minutes later, they stormed out of the restaurant, shouting and accusing, their relationship in ruins.
The staff watched from the kitchen in stunned silence.
By evening, the rush had died. Kavir stepped outside for air. As he passed through a narrow alley, a flyer slapped against his face—carried by the wind.
He pulled it off and glanced at it.
"Serial Killer Still at Large – Public Advised to Stay Alert"
He crumpled the paper and tossed it aside.
Later, he sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building, legs hanging over the edge, facing the traffic below. Cars zoomed past like ants, uncaring, distant. He sat on the wrong side of the boundary railing, dangerously close to falling.
"Attempt failed… what, again?" he muttered to himself. "I don't know. I stopped counting after 200."
He rose, dusted himself off, and turned toward home. No hurry. No destination. Just walking forward through another day that hadn't ended the way he hoped.