I didn’t mean for her to look at me like that.

But she did. Like I’d just peeled my skin off and showed her something rotten underneath.

It happened fast. Too fast.

We were walking, just the two of us. Satomi had linked her arm through mine like she used to do before everything. Before the parasite. Before the murders. Before my life stopped feeling like mine.

The late autumn air was crisp. The streetlights were just starting to flicker on, casting gold across the cracked sidewalk. Dry leaves skittered across the concrete like little ghosts. She was talking about something—school, I think, or her friend Yuko—but I wasn’t really listening. My mind had been drifting again. Always drifting.

That’s when we saw it.

The dog.

Small. Curled up wrong in the gutter. Something about its shape was just off, even from a distance. My stomach clenched before my brain could name why.

We both stopped.

Satomi gasped. “Shinichi…”

It had been hit. The car didn’t even stop. I remember the red taillights disappearing into the distance, as if it never even happened. As if this little life meant nothing. Its chest was still moving—but weak. Broken.

I dropped to my knees beside it.

Blood matted its fur. Its breathing was wet and shallow, like it was drowning in its own lungs. My heart was pounding, but not in fear. Not in panic. It was frustration. Powerlessness.

“Can you… save it?” I whispered. To Migi.

He didn’t answer with words. Just unfurled himself briefly—his cells crawling out of my right hand like vines—and swept over the puppy’s tiny body.

He pulled back quickly.

“Irreparable damage to the internal organs. Death is imminent. I suggest leaving it.”

My throat closed up. I nodded.

And then—I don’t know why—I picked it up.

It was still warm. I could feel the weight of it. Soft. Fragile. But to me, it felt hollow.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel a rush of grief or heartbreak. I just… looked around. Found the nearest trash bin. Walked over. And dropped it in.

Just like that.

Just—

“Shinichi!”

Her voice cracked like glass behind me.

I turned.

{{user}}’s eyes were wide, shimmering. Her hand was half-raised, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to pull me back or push me away. Her whole face looked like betrayal.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

I didn’t know what to say. I stared at her, and I wanted to explain. To say something human. Something she’d understand.

But all I could think was—

It’s dead. What difference does it make where the body goes?

My lips parted, but nothing came out. Migi twitched inside my arm, silent. Watching. Always watching.

And in that moment, I realized how far gone I was.

Because I wasn’t horrified. I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t even surprised at myself. I was… analyzing her.

The way her voice wavered. The dilation of her pupils. The trembling in her fingers. The way her mouth curled—not just with sadness, but fear.

She was scared of me.

And I think part of me felt like she should be.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be afraid to kill a bug. I used to flinch at horror movies. I used to care.

But now there’s something cold in me. Something that grew the day I lost my mother. Something that tightened its grip with every corpse, every scream, every time I had to pretend I was still just a teenage boy and not… whatever I am now.

I feel less and less.

But I remember how I used to feel.

That’s the difference between me and the monsters.

Right?