Gripping News

A shrill alarm dragged Rei from the depths of sleep.

He groaned, rolling onto his side as pale morning light cut through the thin curtains, painting stripes across his sheets. His head throbbed with a dull ache — the kind that sat behind the eyes and refused to leave. For a few seconds, his mind drifted blankly, caught between dreams and memory. Then it hit him.

The train station. The blood. The gunfire. He was back there, but this time he turned spotting the cops open fire towards him.

Rei’s breath caught. His fingers brushed the side of his neck, half expecting to feel something — a wound, a mark, anything. But there was nothing. Only the faint stickiness of sweat.

He exhaled and pushed himself upright, rubbing his face. “Just a dream,” he muttered, though the taste of iron still lingered on his tongue.

His room was small but tidy — a desk piled with notebooks, a narrow bed, a cracked window that overlooked the sleepy streets of his home town. Out here, two hours from the city, life moved slower. The fields and narrow alleys hadn’t changed much, even when everything else in Japan had.

He dressed mechanically, pulling on a plain hoodie and jeans, then shuffled toward the door. Wooden floorboards creaked under his steps as he descended the stairs.

The scent of miso soup greeted him first. Then, the soft hum of the radio on the counter.

“Morning, sweetheart,” his mother called over her shoulder. She was already at the stove, her hair tied back, apron neat and spotless as always.

“Morning,” Rei replied, voice rough from sleep. He grabbed a cup from the rack, filling it with cold water from the tap before sliding into a chair at the kitchen table.

His mom glanced at him briefly, brow furrowing with a gentle sort of concern. “You were out late last night. I almost called your phone.”

Rei froze for half a second. The glass in his hand trembled just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”

Her expression softened, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “You were with Ichi, right? His eighteenth birthday’s today.”

Rei blinked. “Oh — right. Yeah.”

The lie stumbled off his tongue before he could stop it.

He forced a small grin. “He dragged me around the whole evening. You know how he gets.”

His mom chuckled quietly, turning off the stove. “That boy never stops talking.”

She set down a bowl of rice and soup in front of him. “Still, I’m glad you weren’t at the station yesterday.”

Rei’s hand paused halfway to the spoon.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you hear?” she asked, settling across from him. “They found one of those Freaks in the city — shot him right in a subway. It’s all over the news.”

Before Rei could respond, a thundering set of footsteps approached from the hallway.

“Rei! Mama! Where’s the remote?”

A blur of energy burst into the kitchen. Mika, still in her pajamas, messy hair bouncing, skidded to a stop by the couch.

“Good morning, dear,” their mom said with a sigh that was equal parts fondness and resignation. “The remote’s on the sofa, where you left it.”

“Oh!” Mika dove for it, nearly tripping over the rug. She scrambled onto the couch, thumb mashing the power button.

Static flickered, then the morning news filled the room.

A stern anchor spoke over footage of police tape and flashing lights — a familiar underground station, now crawling with investigators.

Rei’s stomach turned cold.

The footage cut to grainy camera clips — chaos, shouting, gunfire echoing through the tiled walls.

Rei’s hand tightened around his spoon. The sound of bullets, even through the TV, made his pulse quicken.

His mother clicked her tongue softly. “The Blood Syndicate. Every time you think all these groups have vanished, another one shows up.”

She shook her head, voice low. “I’m just glad you were with Ichi. Imagine if you’d taken that train…”

Rei forced a nod. “Yeah. Lucky, I guess.”

He focused on his soup, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted. The warmth of the broth did little to chase away the chill in his chest.

On the couch, Mika swung her legs back and forth. “Mama, what’s the Blood Syndicate?”

Her mother hesitated, glancing toward Rei. “It’s… a bad group, darling. People who hurt others. You don’t need to worry about them.”

“But why do they have blood in their name?” Mika pressed, tilting her head. “Is it because they drink blood like vampires?”

Rei managed a small laugh. “Not quite, Mika.”

He ruffled her hair as he passed behind her to set his bowl in the sink. “Finish your breakfast before school, yeah?”

“I’m not hungry yet,” she mumbled, eyes still glued to the TV as the anchor continued to talk about the shooting.

Rei leaned against the counter, pretending to check his phone while stealing glances at the screen.

The footage replayed again — the flash of gunfire, the sound of screams.

Then something else caught his eye.

For just a second, the camera angle shifted, showing the aftermath — the empty platform, pools of red staining the tiles… and a backpack on the ground.

His backpack.

Rei’s breath hitched. He quickly looked away, pocketing his phone as if that could erase what he’d seen.

His mom noticed his distraction. “Rei, you feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired,” he said quietly. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“You worry too much about everything.” She reached over and brushed a hand through his hair, smiling softly. “You’re a good boy. And so is Ichi, i am sure he will not be a Freak so don’t worry.”

He smiled faintly. “Guess it’s just habit.”

“Hmm.” She gave him a knowing look — the kind only mothers had — then walked over to wash the dishes. “If you’re heading out, take an umbrella. Looks like rain later.”

Rei nodded, though his mind was miles away.

The rhythmic sound of running water filled the kitchen, mixing with the faint chatter of the TV.

Mika’s voice broke the quiet again. “Mama, if I become a Freak when I’m eighteen, will the police shoot me too?”

The question froze the room.

Their mother’s hands stilled in the sink. Water continued to run, a soft hiss in the silence.

“Mika,” she said gently, “don’t say things like that.”

“But what if I do?”

“You won’t,” her mother said firmly, turning and kneeling beside the couch. “You’re good and kind, my darling. Only bad people hurt others.”

Rei watched the scene quietly, the weight of those words pressing down on him.

Only bad people hurt others.

But the man at the station — had he been bad?

Rei remembered his voice, the rasped apology. “Sorry, kid.”

It hadn’t sounded evil. Just… tired.

He slipped away from the kitchen, mumbling something about getting ready. Upstairs, the air felt heavier somehow, thick with leftover heat and something else — tension, maybe. Guilt.

Rei collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

The world outside his window looked unchanged — blue skies, birds cutting lazy circles above the rooftops, the hum of cicadas faint in the distance. Ordinary.

And yet, nothing felt ordinary anymore.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the same pen from yesterday.

He turned it over in his fingers, tapping it against his palm.

“Stupid,” he muttered. “Just nerves.”

He set it on the desk

Rei sat there waiting for seemingly no reason.

Finally, with a shaky sigh, he exhaled and rubbed his face. “Yeah. okay time to go.”

He stood to grab his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He walked out and closed his door, and after a few seconds a faint sound of something falling onto the floor was heard.

“ I should really check up with Ichi,” he whispered.

Downstairs, Mika’s laughter floated up, her favorite cartoon blaring from the TV. His mom’s voice joined in, soft and steady, like it always was.

It was a normal morning.

Rei forced himself to breathe.

Normal.

Everything was normal.