The crowbar struck something soft, and dark blue liquid splattered against the wall. I couldn’t comprehend it. Just as I leaned in to get a closer look, a deafening crash came from the bathroom door—it instantly caved inward with a visible dent.

  “Oh my god! You’ve opened your Path!” Rafe seemed startled, maybe even excited. “Listen to me, you have to let me go. You can’t handle this on your own.”

  “Nothing should be appearing here… Whatever the hell that is, nothing should be slamming itself against a bathroom door either—I really need you to explain what the fuck is going on, sweetheart. And spare me the whole ‘you wouldn’t understand’ crap,” I snapped back instinctively. “I need explanations, not orders.”

  I was losing it. The overwhelming fear of the unknown was gnawing at my sanity. And yet, in this godforsaken moment, what my brain really wanted was to smash Rafe’s teeth out, rip out his tongue, and pound it into mince—maybe I’d get some useful answers from the shape of the meat paste, like tea leaf readings in the Middle Ages.

  His screams would be the perfect background music. After that… it didn’t matter what came next. Everyone dies eventually. I’d just be arriving early at the end of my own journey. Nothing to be scared of.

  “It’s the Path. You opened the Path.” Rafe, still reeking of alcohol, had calmed down, now wearing that insufferable, smug smile of someone who thinks they’ve already won. “You don’t know anything. Without me, you’re gonna die—horribly.”

  I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t think of a single way to repair our relationship at this point. “I’ll figure out a way to extract information from your corpse—dead men don’t lie. Much more convenient.”

  A soft rustling came from above. Something dropped onto my head—fuzzy, wet, and reeking of rot.

  I froze. My brain immediately conjured the image of a giant spider. Fantastic. I didn’t scream. Swung my backpack full of interrogation tools over my head to knock whatever it was off, then pulled out my utility knife and snapped the blade into place with a loud click.

  “I changed my mind. Start talking.” My hands were shaking as I cut through the rope binding Rafe’s ankles. “Then I’ll decide whether or not to keep killing you.”

  “This is Nowhere—the other side of the world. The bad side,” Rafe said quickly, trying and failing to stand in the slick bathtub. His legs flailed like a newborn deer. “People like us do certain things, open the Path, and then… fall into Nowhere.”

  The paper in my hand had crumbled into a fine black powder—it had expended all its power. But the second one tucked in my sock hadn’t warmed up yet. No lie detected. Amid the increasingly violent pounding at the door, I kept cutting Rafe free.

  “What’s outside that door? Is it dangerous?” My voice shook as I opened the bottle of ink. I jammed the nib of the pen into the mixture of blood and ink with more force than necessary. “You’ll need clothes and shoes.”

  “How the hell do you—You just killed a pseudo-bio, the Residents are gonna notice. We have to get out of here!” Rafe looked like he was debating whether to strangle me or punch me in the face. “What are you doing?”

  I shoved jeans and a long coat into his arms, tossed Hello Kitty sneakers onto the floor. “Stick this paper to the tote bag. Open it again—it’ll contain a set of clothes that fit you. That’s what I wrote. You’ll need proper gear or you’ll get hurt.”

  The way Rafe looked at me screamed What the actual hell. I dipped my pen into the ink again and scrawled “You shall not pass” across the battered metal door, waiting for him to fumble into the clothes.

  “You lied to get into my house. You’ve done a bunch of shady shit. I almost killed you. Let’s call it even.” I clutched my weapon-stuffed backpack tight, trying not to let my voice tremble over the spider corpse the size of my hand. “Let’s just get out of here, alright?”

  “Out the window.” Rafe stepped back into the now-filthy bathtub—I will never let my tub look like a mass grave, not in this life—“Don’t touch the spider blood.”

  “You call that thing a spider?” I admired Rafe’s strong stomach. Swallowed my gag reflex and, following his lead, planted one foot on his knee and shoved the mystery window open. “What’s a pseudo-bio?”

  “Twisted things. Even the Residents hate them. They’re like… flesh dolls gone wrong.”

  Rafe’s voice faded as he moved to the other side of the wall. I leaned out the window and stared at the streetlight far, far below. “Wait—how the hell am I supposed to jump from this height? That’s got to be at least ten meters down.”

  I rubbed my sweat-slick hands on my shirt, taking turns. My voice cracked as I tried to keep panic at bay.

  If Rafe knew I was afraid of heights, would he shove me? No—he could shove me any time. God, I was so nauseous I couldn’t think straight. Better stop giving him murder inspiration. Crouching on that narrow windowsill, I looked like a portrait of despair framed in a wall—and for some absurd reason, I laughed.

  Rafe was wearing a red shirt with yellow flowers—I couldn’t see what was “appropriate” about it. He yanked down the murky shower curtain and tore it into strips with ease, then smoothly tied a fisherman’s knot.

  “Where do you plan on tying that? I don’t trust the mechanical strength of something you ripped that easily.” I tried to stay calm, squatting in the window frame and chatting idly. “And what exactly is the thing banging on the door? A resident in desperate need of a bathroom?”

  Rafe laughed. “Could be. Or maybe a vulture drawn by the smell, a hunter looking for Collections, a painter gathering pigments… Who knows?”

  There were too many questions, too little time. I watched him silently as he secured the makeshift rope to the window frame and gave it a firm tug.

  “All set. Interview begins. Let’s get out of here.” Rafe looked up and smiled at me. His eyes reminded me of the ocean beneath a cliff—deep, dark, and untrustworthy.

  Rather than wonder what the “interview” meant, I was busy calculating how I might die: torn apart by whatever was outside, die of fright dangling from a window, or be pushed to my death by Rafe. The fear hit a threshold and, paradoxically, gave birth to a reckless burst of courage.

  I wouldn’t take advice from someone I didn’t trust. This teenage-rebellion-style defiance made me jump back into the bathtub, placing my hand on the doorknob and facing the almost-faded words on the door. “I’m sorry for what I did earlier—though honestly, if I could go back, I’d probably make the same choice. Still, I wanted to say sorry now.”

  Rafe looked surprised. Good. I didn’t want to be predictable.

  At that dramatic moment, the banging stopped. In the sudden silence, my sense returned, and I felt how utterly stupid and awkward my apology had been.

  From the other side of the door came drunken mumbling, followed by a string of curses in a language I didn’t understand, and then the sound of staggering footsteps fading into the distance.

  It seemed I had good reason to believe whatever was out there had left. Still, I dipped a fine liner into the blood-ink mixture and scribbled “You shall not pass” around the frame, raising a brow at Rafe and hoping he’d catch the spark of madness behind my plan.

  Rafe nodded in approval, which strangely comforted me—though it shouldn’t have. He quietly picked up the crowbar from the floor and stepped to the door.

  “I’m not responsible if you decide to die trying. As compensation, I’m taking this.” He nodded, counting down with his fingers—three, two, one—and then shouted loud enough to rattle the walls, “Grab the rope! Don’t die in a place like this!”

  I opened the door, and Rafe—like a predator in a rainforest, cloaked in humidity and intent—swept the crowbar forward, striking the deep purple sack of flesh blocking our path.

  I would’ve preferred to face the danger head-on. That way, I might find some way to solve it along the way.

  The moment I saw a large, squirming mass of flesh get pounded by Rafe’s crowbar, I knew this wasn’t the world I knew. I quickly scribbled “froze” on a sticky note, slapped it onto the purple meat thing, and fought down a wave of nausea.

  “Pleasure working with you,” Rafe muttered, jabbing the other end of the crowbar into what seemed like the creature’s head. “Are you a pseudo-bio? Or a Resident?”

  Good. I really didn’t want to hear this thing be called a painter. Anything art-related should never be this disgusting. The fleshy sack twitched in my direction, attempting to crawl toward me. From the spot where it was pinned down came a childlike voice: “It’s you? It’s really you!”

  “I’ve never seen this thing before,” I immediately told Rafe, trying to confirm it for myself. “It’s mistaken me for someone else.”

  Rafe gave me a look—like he was watching a platypus fly a plane. “You’ve got a bounty on your head in the city. That’s why you nearly got killed before. How high is the reward?”

  That last question was directed at the meat thing. It giggled like a little girl. “Very high. Enough for a Hunter to buy a life. Let’s work together—I'll strangle her, you crush her heart. Deal?”

  So that stab-happy psycho was trying to claim the bounty? I pulled up a photo of the maniac from my phone and shoved it under Rafe’s nose, asking the question with my eyes.

  Rafe glanced at it and then fixed his gaze back on the fleshy sack. “Who told you all Hunters know each other? I don’t know him.”

  The paper strip in my sock burned like an oven. Another lie from Rafe.

  “What do we do with this thing?” I asked, deciding I’d deal with the not-human monster before worrying about the liar.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The childlike voice screamed, sobbed, and begged, but it didn’t stop Rafe from pounding it into a smear of mush. I was pretty sure the mention of a “bounty” hadn’t tempted him into collaborating. I couldn’t muster sympathy for it, but I didn’t enjoy hearing a child’s voice slowly die out either.

  Rafe was stronger than I’d thought. Whether it was tearing down the shower curtain or now pounding the crowbar into a warped mess, he proved it. We each took a small knife and began slicing the deep purple flesh into chunks—his hands moved much faster than mine. As we worked, Rafe started explaining the situation. This time, he was finally telling the truth.

  People like us, those who could come to Nowhere, were called “Hunters.” According to Rafe, we’d existed for as long as human history itself. What Hunters pursued were called “Collections”—objects imbued with extraordinary power. The thing I took from Rafe was a Collection. My writing, and the ability that turned him into my “Cinderella,” was called a Skill.

  Rafe made a point of solemnly stating that he only got caught off guard. Otherwise, I never would’ve taken the Collection from him, nor would he have ended up tied to a bathtub.

  “You got lucky. I fell in the first time all on my own. No one explained a damn thing.” Rafe grinned, guiding me over the blackened, violet-red mush on the floor. “For a drunk guy, it’s a miracle I made it out alive.”

  “So you got here by getting drunk? If I’d known, I wouldn’t have poured liquor on you. What blood alcohol level does it take? How do you get back?” I kept my voice low, watching my step carefully—I wasn’t about to trip in a place like this.

  It looked like a cheap, old motel. Beyond the bathroom was a room just as filthy, its original colors long faded beneath the grime. I didn’t know what was worse—bathing in a tub like that, or sleeping on a bed like this. I slung my bag across my chest and moved farther away from Rafe.

  “The way into Nowhere is called a Path. You won’t know whether you have one—or what it is—until it opens. Don’t linger in one place too long. That attracts all sorts of unwanted things.” Rafe’s grin turned sharp and smug, the kind you wear when you’re holding all the cards. “Curiosity killed the cat. You sure ask a lot of questions.”

  I caught the edge in his tone and pulled a small bookmark from my bag, gripping it in my hand. “Where exactly are you headed?”

  Rafe patted down his pockets. “Did anything new appear on you? Check while I explain. The Path is how people like us come and go from this world. Once you’ve used it, you’ll recognize the feeling. It’s not something I can really describe. If I had to try…”

  I paused while checking my jacket pockets. “It’s like something you’ve dreamed a thousand times but forget the moment you wake up?”

  “Exactly. This is your first time in Nowhere, so it’ll prepare a special event just for you. You can’t leave unless you participate.” Rafe bent to pick up a receipt that had fallen from my pocket, now washed to a mushy wad of paper. “Don’t leave anything here. Not even trash. Not a single hair.”

  “The Residents here can use whatever we leave behind to remember us. Next time you enter, they’ll track you faster. And if you really screw up—like dropping your phone in this place… trust me, you don’t want to get a call from here.”

  God. It really was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

  “Don’t worry. We probably won’t live long enough for the Residents to remember your scent.”

  How was that supposed to be comforting? It felt like invisible hands were clawing into my lungs with every breath, twisting my insides into knots.

  “How do people like us usually die?”

  “If we’re unlucky? The way the Path opened might kill us—like me, maybe from alcohol poisoning. We could be killed by Residents or Vultures—that’s the easy version. Other times, it’s complicated. Death doesn’t quite describe what happens.” Rafe gave my shoulder a gentle pat, seemingly forgetting I’d just tried to kill him. He sounded genuinely sorry for me. “Hunters try to keep themselves alive while looking for Collections. Like completing bounties.”

  “Completing a bounty lets you live a little longer. Those who fail—you’ve seen what happens to them.”

  I’d already checked every pocket on my clothes and started taking off my boots, going over every layer like I was at the world’s strictest customs inspection.

  “I thought my counterattack killed that lunatic. Why am I the bounty target? Why the hell would all this crap go through so much trouble for me? Doesn’t a bounty cost something? Am I even worth it?” I wasn’t really looking for answers at this point—it was more of a complaint. My hands were filthy and shaking as I squeezed every inch of my clothes. No clues. Growing frustrated, I dumped the contents of my bag onto my jacket with a loud clatter.

  “No idea—maybe it’s in your tank top?” Rafe tilted his chin subtly. “This world doesn’t follow our logic. No use trying to make sense of it.”

  I followed his gaze down to my deep brown athletic tank top—and noticed a square bulge. It was something just a bit thicker than a credit card.

  “This is… a key?” I pulled out a leather key tag with a tiny brass key attached—just the size of my fingertip. Deep green, the tag was embossed with the number 3141.

  “Oh, you’re lucky. That’s the Blue Vulture Hotel.” Rafe flipped the tag over and tapped the elegant bird-of-paradise engraving. “I did well there last time. There should be even more activities this round.”

  I wiped down my skin with an alcohol swab—originally meant to sterilize the needle I’d jabbed under Rafe’s nails—and muttered, “So the grosser the world, the more valuable the loot?”

  “The more dangerous, the more rewarding. You’ll love it.” That’s what Rafe said.

  I didn’t love it one bit. “You still haven’t told me how to leave.”

  Rafe stopped walking and glanced back at me, something strange in his expression.

  “The same way you came. You’ll recognize the feeling when you touch the Path again.”

  “So you have to get… drunk beyond measure. And I…” I trailed off, thinking. “How did I get in?”

  Rafe waited patiently.

  Buried memories stirred. It was hard to believe I’d forgotten something so deeply etched into my DNA, something as essential as breathing.

  “Are you planning to go back now?” I’d learned enough to not want a wild card like him lingering nearby. “I could boost your blood alcohol level or turn whatever’s in your stomach into booze.”

  Rafe kept smiling, that picture-perfect grin with eight even teeth. “Sorry. I don’t want to leave.”

  This wasn’t human. I stared into Rafe’s eyes—the easiest part to read. “Why?”

  “Participating in an event is one of the fastest ways to get a Collection. If you knew how valuable Collections are, you wouldn’t even think of leaving.” Rafe stepped closer. “Why are you scared again?”

  I couldn’t exactly say, “Because you’re starting to feel like this place.” I’d never been so grateful for a palm-sized spider spinning a web within arm’s reach. A single pointed gesture was enough to distract Rafe. Worse, he grabbed my wrist and picked up his pace.

  In that moment, I would’ve rather died than sink deeper into this kind of fear.

  “Events for new Hunters are held in public areas. If you walk too slow, other things will push us there. That pseudo-bio and the Resident earlier? Scary, but they weren’t the worst.” Rafe’s voice grew eerily calm—no inflection, no change in pitch. I felt the strength in his grip and gave up the idea of fighting back.

  If he was becoming a part of this world, then maybe I could pry some useful info out of him. “What do you mean by ‘event’? Have you done one before? There must be guides or something, right?”

  “I’ve done two. Advice from one Hunter to another—never trust what you hear about events. Even a single lie can get you killed before you realize what’s happening.” He sounded unusually warm, like someone soothing a child, maybe to boost his credibility. “Each event has one newcomer. The rest are Hunters with tickets. Don’t worry. The setup always favors the newbie—it’s like a tutorial.”

  I stared at Rafe’s increasingly sharp smile, trying to reassure myself. “If you survived your first event looking like that, I should be fine.”

  That’s when a festive-looking poster saved me from spiraling deeper into fear.

  Welcome to the Blue Vulture Hotel Murder Mystery Party. The cheerful sky-blue text popped against a lemon-yellow background, ringed with fluffy white clouds. Below was a bold arrow pointing forward. I hesitated for only a second before following the arrow down the corridor and spotting the second… and third poster…

  Each poster was illustrated with intricate clouds—too detailed to memorize. I took pictures of each one, just in case. Even if they turned out useless, at least I had them. While doing that, I subtly put distance between myself and Rafe and switched my signal-less phone to battery saver mode.

  As we walked further down the hall, the filth began to disappear. I gradually noticed how warm and charming the hotel looked. Cream wallpaper, deep brown doors with no room numbers, and navy carpet that gradually revealed a faint diamond pattern. It all felt so… normal. I almost forgot I was in another world, where just minutes ago, a talking meat sack had tried to kill me.

  The hallway had no branches. After dozens of turns, I completely lost my sense of direction. Rafe followed silently behind, face stiff like a department store mannequin, eyes glued to my back.

  Blue Vulture Hotel Murder Mystery Party – Entrance.

  The final poster was pinned to the double metal doors at the end of the hallway. Above it hung a matching green leather key tag, raved with: 3141.