Chapter 2 – Something Peculiar

The first sign that something was wrong—more wrong than the voice in my head—was the receipt.

I hadn’t bought anything.

I was standing outside the café, staring at my phone like it had personally betrayed me, when a digital receipt popped up from my payment app.

ITEM: Black Coffee
TIME: 10:47
NOTE: Unnecessary.

I checked the time. 10:46.

“…Nope,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

You did consume a bitter liquid, the voice said.

“I ordered it,” I replied. “I didn’t pay for it yet.”

The system disagrees.

I pinched my arm. Hard.

It hurt. Which was good. Hallucinations were rude, but they usually didn’t come with accurate pain feedback.

I walked. Walking helped. If I stayed still, my brain started cataloging all the ways this could end with me in a very polite room with padded walls.

Osaka rolled around me as usual—crowds flowing, trains rumbling underground, screens flickering overhead. Advertisements scrolled through smiling faces, limited-time offers, and public service announcements reminding everyone to update their disaster safety apps.

One of the screens above Dōtonbori hiccupped.

Just for a second.

Numbers replaced the ad.

Not big ones. Not dramatic ones. Just a list. Neat. Clinical.

03
01
00

I stopped walking again.

The numbers vanished, replaced by a cartoon octopus advertising takoyaki.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

Yes.

That did not help.

I pulled my phone out and opened the municipal accident database. It took longer than it should have. The connection lagged, like it was thinking about whether or not I deserved access.

When it finally loaded, my stomach tightened.

An accident had just been logged. Construction site collapse. Three injured. One fatality.

Time of death: 10:47.

I laughed.

It came out wrong. Too sharp. A couple walking past me sped up.

“No,” I said. “That’s coincidence. That’s… data lag. Or confirmation bias. Or—”

—or the world is behaving differently than it did when I last observed it.

I stopped near the river, gripping the railing.

“Okay,” I said. “We need ground rules.”

I am listening.

“First,” I said, “you don’t comment on my beverage choices. Second, if you’re going to announce yourself as Death, you don’t get to act confused. That ruins the brand.”

I was asleep.

“Sure you were.”

For longer than I intended.

I stared out at the water. Even it looked busy, reflecting screens and lights instead of sky.

“You don’t sound very… ominous,” I said.

You expected thunder.

“I expected something. A vibe.”

This era is excessively literal.

I snorted despite myself.

“Welcome to journalism,” I said. “We kill poetry for a living.”

As if offended, my phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t a notification.

It was a message draft.

An empty one.

The cursor blinked, waiting.

Then letters appeared.

YOU ARE LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE.

My fingers went cold.

“I didn’t type that.”

Neither did I.

The message deleted itself.

My phone returned to the home screen like nothing had happened.

“Great,” I muttered. “So now my phone is haunted.”

That is an imprecise term.

“I’m improvising.”

I walked faster, weaving through the crowd. I didn’t know where I was going, just that standing still felt like agreeing to something I didn’t understand.

Another screen glitched. This time, I caught it clearly.

A commuter train schedule replaced by a single line of text.

DELAYED: OUTCOME UNCERTAIN

A woman next to me frowned at the screen.

Then it changed back.

She shrugged and kept walking.

“Why am I seeing this?” I asked.

Because you are paying attention.

“That’s never been a requirement before.”

It is now.

I stopped short.

“That’s not an answer.”

It is the only one I have.

We stood there, me and the world and whatever had decided to move into my head without asking.

“You said you were asleep,” I said. “Why wake up now?”

There was hesitation. I could feel it—not emotion exactly, but… consideration.

Too much information, Death said at last. Too many records. Too many predictions treated as certainty.

“That’s called the news cycle.”

No, she said. This is different. They are no longer observing the end. They are scheduling it.

My mouth felt dry.

“That’s a bold accusation.”

You are investigating it.

I didn’t like that she was right.

I checked my phone again. Another alert had come in.

FORECAST UPDATE: PROBABILITY THRESHOLD EXCEEDED

No outlet name. No author. Just data.

“Who’s ‘they’?” I asked.

Someone who believes death is a resource.

I exhaled slowly.

“Fantastic,” I said. “Because what the world really needed was middle management for mortality.”

For the first time, I felt something like amusement ripple through my thoughts.

You cope with humor.

“I cope with denial,” I corrected. “Humor is a side effect.”

The city hummed around us, unaware. Or pretending to be.

I thought of my source. Of the message he’d sent. Of the article sitting half-finished on my laptop.

“This is still just weird,” I said. “Weird doesn’t mean supernatural.”

You are speaking to Death.

“Yeah, and you’re surprisingly patient about it.”

I am adapting.

That made my skin prickle.

“Okay,” I said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to keep working. I’m going to verify everything. And if this turns out to be a breakdown, at least I’ll have documentation.”

And if it is not?

I looked up at the screens, at the numbers hidden behind the ads, at a city quietly trusting the math.

“Then,” I said, “someone’s going to have to explain why the future is filing reports ahead of schedule.”

Inside my head, Death went very still.

Then we will have work to do.

I sighed.

“Great,” I said. “I don’t even get hazard pay.”