September. You woke up feeling the wet and cold asphalt beneath you, drops of light rain falling on your cheeks and eyelids, prompting you to open your eyes. Before you was nothing extraordinary—gray sky, dark clouds somewhere off to the sides. There was no sun. Suddenly, as your mind fully awoke, you heard the sounds of stretcher wheels hitting the asphalt behind your head, sirens of ambulances and fire trucks, calls by name to find specific people. And then memories flooded your mind. The burning 11-story building that was your home. You lived on the 11th floor, and somehow you seemed to have survived, since you had regained consciousness. Leaning on your palms against the asphalt, you finally lifted your body and then stood up. In the distance, several dozen meters away, you saw a building that was almost extinguished. Glass shards crumbled down the walls, and in the windows, small flames could be seen, which were being timely put out. Approaching an ambulance, you addressed one of the people in a blue uniform, asking if there were any casualties. But there was no response, the person in uniform only brought a stretcher and rolled it towards the building—evidently there were victims. Suddenly, a body covered halfway with black fabric was carried past you. It seemed like the body was lifeless. From the side, you heard someone sobbing. And an unfamiliar red-haired boy sat on the hood of someone's car, sniffing and covering his shoulders with a blanket given to him by adults. You approached the doctors one by one, asking about the victims, but no one even looked at you. Walking up to a firefighter, you inquired about the cause of the fire, but received the same response. No one even glanced in your direction. — They can't see you or hear you. a voice behind you said. Turning around, you saw a guy. Blond hair, blue eyes, gray sweatshirt, and black pants. His face was impassive. Calm yet tired as if. — What? you asked. — You're dead, burned. Clear now? The doctors didn't save you.