Chapter 28 — A Laughter in the Fog

The mist slithered along the narrow alleys like a living thing, swallowing sound, swallowing breath. Hiroshi’s footsteps, muffled against the damp stone, echoed only within his mind, each step a heartbeat, each heartbeat a whisper.

He turned a corner, his masked face gleaming wetly under the flickering streetlights. The distorted mask, half-smiling, half-snarling, seemed to move with a life of its own. Beneath it, Hiroshi grinned widely, unseen.

"Did you see her...?"
The voice in his head slithered like oil across water.
"The little mouse? So earnest. So soft. You could have crushed her, you know..."

Hiroshi chuckled lowly, the sound hitching and breaking like a badly wound music box.
“Ahhh~ but that would be boring! Boring! Where’s the fun if the prey doesn’t dance first?” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with an unnatural pitch, lilting between singsong and growl.

Somewhere behind him, distant yet uncomfortably close, a figure flickered through the mist. A glimpse of a familiar face — not Emiko — someone else. Someone older.
His brother?

No. Dead long ago.
Hiroshi’s hand twitched toward his hidden blade out of instinct, before he laughed again — a breathy, mad sound.
"Illusions... Just illusions..." he whispered to himself. Or was it the mask whispering to him now?

The mist thickened as he approached the abandoned plaza where the old fountain stood — a cracked angel with its face eroded away. Hiroshi tilted his head, regarding the statue almost lovingly.

“No face, no lies...” he mused aloud. “Only the pure truth of decay! How beautiful, don’t you think?”
He turned as if expecting an answer.

No one stood there. And yet —
He felt eyes. Burning. Judging.

His hand clenched around the small metallic object hidden in his pocket — the next piece in his grand design. A puzzlebox of death, a signature no one would ever decode. His next performance... nearing perfection.

"Still, they watch. They always watch."
The thought crept through him like mildew.

He stepped into the center of the plaza, arms wide, mask gleaming under the shattered moonlight.
“Come, come! Let’s dance, my little inspectors! Will you catch me, or shall I slip through your fingers once more?”
His voice cracked into a sudden high-pitched laugh, echoing grotesquely against the buildings.

For a moment, the fog seemed to shudder.

A memory bled into his mind — uninvited.
A young girl. Soft brown hair. Tears glistening as she begged for her life.
“Please... I don’t want to die...”

His grin faltered.
The mask smiled for him.

“Tsk tsk. Regrets are for the dead, dear little butterfly.”
He swayed slightly, as if drunk on the memory.

Another hallucination flickered — this time, Emiko’s face, not fearful, but... disappointed.

It stung more than he cared to admit.
For a split second, Hiroshi’s hand trembled.

Then, with a jerk, he spun on his heel and vanished into the fog, leaving only the low hum of his mad laughter behind.

In the endless mist, it was no longer clear who was hunting whom.