[Playing: Clint Eastwood…]
For the past five days, Mikel had been locked in a routine.
Every time dusk approached, Doom's chosen song of the day would begin playing in his head. Along with it came the rhythmic hammering, dead people hauling materials, mixing cement, picking through the ruins of his old home, and fixing what could still be saved. Everything moved to the beat in his mind — ghostly hammering, synchronized tapping, spirits bobbing their heads and swaying their hips in time.
It was absurd.
By dawn, all that would be left was Mikel. After all, ghosts were weaker during the day.
With nowhere else to live, he ended up staying at a café that offered small rooms with computers. Cheaper than a motel or inn, and conveniently close to the sealed-off area of District 5.
But his routine didn't stop with ghostly renovations. He also had to run errands — buy supplies, sneak them past the blockade, make a detour to a public bath, and finally squeeze himself into a cramped café cubicle where he'd pass out… only to wake up and do it all over again.
Endure Doom's ever-changing music tastes. Assist the ghosts. Grant their last wishes. Recruit new spirits who were making yet another long line at dusk. Sneak in materials. Crash at the café. Wake up. Repeat.
Over and over and over again, for five long days.
Not even his Recovery Protocol could keep up with the mounting fatigue. At some point, he wasn't sure if he was rebuilding a house or digging his own grave.
By the sixth night, the bags under Mikel's eyes were darker than ever.
Struggling to stay awake, he hammered a nail into a broken drawer. His eyes kept sliding shut, no matter how hard he fought it. Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus.
"Get it together."
Just as he raised the hammer again, a sharp sting bit at his wrist.
"Ah—" Mikel dropped the hammer, narrowly hitting his other hand, saved only by his improving reflexes.
His gaze snapped to the beaded bracelet clinging to his wrist, disbelief washing over his face. "What is wrong with you?"
[It's hungry, Master.]
Hungry?
Deep lines formed on Mikel's forehead as he stared at the chain, then at the screen in front of him.
[It's been a week since it last fed. It should have been sipping your energy by now.]
"Damn…" he muttered, reminded that he still owned cursed relics that might very well kill him someday.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mikel sighed. He had been so busy with repairs and ghostly business that he'd forgotten his life wasn't some twisted cross between Ghostbusters and Home Depot. He wasn't trying to start a construction company run by the dead.
His brows twitched.
Peeking through one tired eye, Mikel glanced at the swarm of ghosts moving in and out of the house, led by the old engineer — a ghost who had been an actual contractor in life.
[It's a feast right here, Master.]
"…" Mikel gulped and looked away, shaking his head at the dark idea creeping into his mind. "If you're the one who planted that, Doom, screw yourself."
[I am merely your guide. Your thoughts and actions are your own. I simply provide… alternative options.]
Mikel briefly eyed Doom's message, as if the system were washing its hands of all responsibility. Then, he glanced at the dormant bracelet, feeling a faint pulse. It was subtle, like long, sharp fingernails dragging along his skin with restrained hunger.
The Blood Chain was starving, and Mikel could feel it in his bones.
It pulsed again, faint but ominous, glowing with a dim black-red shimmer. Its grip tightened on his wrist, a silent reminder of the leash he wore on his arm — and the invisible one around his neck.
"Of course… this is why I'm so damn tired," he muttered, finally understanding there was another reason behind his spiraling exhaustion.
"Hey, Mikel."
Suddenly, his attention shifted to the approaching Arthur, the old engineer ghost, and the little girl — Arthur's daughter — who held a rolled-up paper like it was a sacred treasure.
"Uh, yeah?" Mikel pushed himself to his feet. "What is it?"
"I have some proposals," said the engineer, gesturing for the girl to unroll the plan.
Since neither he nor Arthur had any physical presence, the girl had to present the sketch drawn by another ghost.
Mikel looked down at the paper. The crude drawing wouldn't even pass a first-year art class.
"This section's already crumbled," the engineer croaked. "Rebuilding it would be expensive, so we thought… instead of rebuilding, we just close it off—"
The ghost's explanation dragged on, and Mikel felt his consciousness slipping again. His eyelids were leaden with sleep, and though it was still hours before dawn, he felt like he was about to crash for good.
"What do you think?" Arthur asked, snapping Mikel out of his daze.
"Uh…" Mikel cleared his throat and nodded with a forced smile. He understood nothing. "Sure. Sounds solid… probably."
Arthur and the engineer nodded in approval.
"Very well, we'll get started," the engineer said. Then, to the girl, "Come, child. We need to show the others."
The girl beamed up at Mikel before nodding and scampering off after the old ghost.
Arthur stayed behind, his smile fading as he turned to Mikel.
"Mikel, are you okay?" he asked, studying the teen's haggard expression. He knew Mikel was tired — they all did — but tonight, something felt… wrong.
This wasn't just exhaustion.
It looked like something was eating Mikel alive from the inside.
Worried, Arthur instinctively reached out to touch his shoulder — a habit he couldn't seem to drop, even if he was just a spirit.
To his shock, his hand stopped midway.
He blinked, stunned, as he realized something was gripping his arm, hard. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt the real weight of something. A sensation he had lost since he passed.
"You…" Arthur's voice was barely a whisper as he looked into Mikel's eyes, only to see the hunger lurking there. "... can touch me?"
Mikel blinked, then quickly let go of Arthur's arm like he had been scalded. He glared at the bracelet on his wrist. That wasn't him. The chain had moved on its own. And for the first time in days, Mikel felt completely awake — not from rest, but from the sickening awareness that something had just violated his control.
"Mikel, I—" Arthur stopped short as he caught the dark shift in Mikel's expression. The boy didn't just look tired anymore.
He looked furious.
Mikel opened his mouth to speak… but no words came out. Instead, he turned sharply and walked away without a sound.
Because he knew one thing:
If he didn't feed the chain soon, it would feed on him.
And he needed to find something… something wicked, something that deserved to be devoured.
"Mikel!" Arthur's faint voice rang from behind, like it was coming from another life, but Mikel didn't stop.
He walked faster, his weary eyes now burning with a grim resolve, as if he were a time bomb with seconds left on the clock. Each step, the chain pulsed against his wrist — slow, steady, expectant.
And Mikel knew…
It wouldn't wait much longer.