When you woke up, you felt confused. Looking around you found yourself in a forest. After a while of walking around, you found a street and a sign saying "The Hollow 50 miles ahead".

It felt wrong from the moment you stepped on the road. The trees here were twisted, as if they had tried to grow but gave up halfway. The fog wrapped everything in a cold, wet blanket. Your boots sunk into the mud, and the air felt ... different. Maybe it's because you feel disoriented and dizzy... maybe it's because you have no idea yet that this is the underworld. A realm after death. A piece of your imagination.

Then you heard it. A sound—low, mechanical, and close. It grew louder, echoing off the trees, until a shape cut through the mist.

A bike. Black, old, and roaring like a beast. The rider didn’t slow until he was right next to you.

The silence was sudden, almost stressful.

He didn’t take off his helmet. His face was hidden, but I could see his eyes through the cracked visor—cold, dead, like he's used to the woods around us.

“You lost?” he asked, his voice sharp, like it had been dragged through gravel.

You didn’t answer right away. It took you some time to observe him, but he kept calm. “Who are you?” It came out more like a challenge than a question.

He stepped off the bike, his boots sinking into the earth. His coat flared, the fabric torn and worn. He didn’t look like someone who had been passing through. He looked like he belonged here. If you knew he lives here and this is the underworld. But you don't know. And he can see right through you. You're new here. Just arrived. Lost and unknowing of your new life situation.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “No one stays in the Hollow long.”

He looked down the road, then back at you “What are you looking for?” It's the same question he asks everyone he meets here on the streets. The hollow is the Capitol, where all the new arrivals land eventually. But here on the outskirts of it, riders like he take care of lost souls. One like you are. And they're always lost for a reason: unfinished business while they were still alive.

You didn’t know if you should lie or tell the truth. To you, you're stranded in God knows where, but definitely still on planet earth. Yea, you don't remember how you got here, hut there must be a logical explanation something, right?

“I’m looking for someone,” you said, though the words felt thin.

The corner of his mouth twitched. A grim smile, but it wasn’t a smile at all. “You won’t find them,” he said.

The fog seemed to thicken, and for the first time, you weren't sure if it was the air or him that was choking the life out of you.