I loaded the geek game

In an apartment in Tokyo.

Hiroshi Yamada awoke with a start from a long and suffocating nightmare, his chest heaving violently, cold sweat soaking his back, and his throat tight.

He looked at the clock on the wall; the hour hand had just passed seven, but the room was as dark as midnight.

Although most of the details of the dream had become blurred, the fear of being entangled by a huge phantom and dragged into an endless abyss lingered deep in his consciousness like a cold spider web, sending chills down his spine.

He shakily grabbed the water glass from the bedside table and gulped down several mouthfuls of cold water. The water flowed down his parched throat, slightly calming his wildly beating heart. Just then, the piercing sound of an air raid siren ripped through the silence outside the window like a mournful wail.

“Again… again…”

Yes, there have been alarms going off every morning lately.

He should probably get used to it.

Hiroshi Yamada got out of bed, drew back the bedroom curtains, and opened the window. Outside was a suffocating sight—

Dark clouds hung over the sky like a heavy shroud, blocking out all sunlight. Ashes fell like black snowflakes, their origin unknown, and to the naked eye, they resembled the remnants of burnt paper.

Hiroshi Yamada was uneasy when he saw that a thick layer of ash had accumulated on the windowsill.

There weren't this many yesterday.

He instinctively pushed open the window, wanting to see more clearly.

The moment the window was opened, a gust of cold wind carrying ashes rushed in, along with a faint, acrid smell of burning.

Several larger pieces of ash stuck to his cheek.

Whether it was psychological or not, Hiroshi Yamada felt a strange itching sensation on his cheek.

He hurriedly closed the window, his fingers trembling slightly with nervousness. In the instant the glass closed, he seemed to see several pieces of ash swirling in the air, banging against his window to form a distorted smiling face, but this eerie scene vanished in an instant.

"An illusion...it must be an illusion..."

……

It was eight o'clock in the morning.

Hiroshi Yamada was curled up on the sofa in the bedroom, his fingers unconsciously picking at the fabric along the edge. All the lights in the room were on—the ceiling light, the table lamp, and even the flashlight.

The pale light cast his shadow on the wall, which shifted uneasily.

He then turned on the television.

This time of day is usually when major Japanese television stations broadcast morning dramas.

Hiroshi Yamada is a 38-year-old single office worker who used to scoff at the superficial plots of morning programs, saying they were "just entertainment for housewives," and he never watched such things.

But at this moment, he desperately craved any familiar sound, any sound from his past daily life—even a clichéd love story, even a silly inspirational tale. Please, anything, as long as it wasn't…

"The government is urging the public to remain calm..."

On the screen, the female host sat upright facing the camera, her voice eerily steady, every word uttered sounding pre-recorded: "Experts point out that this unusual weather phenomenon is expected to last for a week... We urge the public to reduce unnecessary outings... and strictly abide by the curfew regulations..."

“A week?” Yamada Hiroshi chuckled dryly, his voice hoarse. “You were already saying that last week.”

Suddenly, the screen flickered violently. The female anchor's face collapsed amidst the distorted pixels—her eyes became two black holes, her mouth stretched to her ears, revealing gleaming white teeth. Then the screen went completely black, and several thick, blood-red characters seeped from the depths of the screen:
[The underworld is approaching!]
The signal stopped abruptly.

The hissing sound of the static screen filled the room, like countless tiny claws scraping against my eardrums.

"It's a signal problem again..."

As Yamada Hiroshi said this, he subconsciously and quickly turned off the TV, his movements almost panic-inducing, as if he were afraid that something extremely terrifying would emerge from the static-filled screen of the TV the next second.

As the television was turned off, the surroundings became quiet again.

In the brightly lit living room, only Yamada Hiroshi's heavy breathing and the faint rustling of ashes falling on the windowsill could be heard.

……

at noon.

Hiroshi Yamada paced back and forth in the room like a caged beast. The clock on the wall ticked away, each tick striking his taut nerves. He had been trapped in the apartment for far too long, almost to the point of madness.

If it weren't for this damn... inexplicable, incomprehensible, bizarre change.

What is happening to this world?
Hey.

The phone rang at that moment.

In Tokyo, civilian internet service had been down for some time, but mobile phone communication was still functioning normally. The text message Yamada Hiroshi received was from the city hall, reminding residents in his area to collect essential supplies at designated locations as needed.

Supplies… Yamada Hiroshi’s stomach clenched as if in a spasm.

More than a week before the situation deteriorated to this point, major supermarkets were already experiencing panic buying... or even frantic buying. Yamada's family didn't have much stock to begin with, the refrigerator was already empty, and the last can of food was eaten the night before last.

He needs food.

Just then, faint footsteps came from outside the entrance, along with people talking in hushed tones. The neighbors had probably also been notified and were gradually coming out.

Hiroshi Yamada drew back the living room curtains and looked out the window. The sky was as gloomy as if it were the end of the world, and ashes continued to fall silently, covering the quiet street.

He stood there blankly for more than ten seconds, then gritted his teeth and began to carefully put on his clothes—a thick coat, a hood, multiple masks, and stuffed a flashlight and umbrella into his bag.

Finally, after a moment's hesitation, he opened the drawer, slipped a folding knife into his pocket, took a deep breath, and left the house.

……

Hiroshi Yamada walked along the quiet road, holding an umbrella that quickly accumulated a thick layer of ash. Pedestrians around him were few and far between, maintaining an eerie silence, with only the sound of footsteps and the faint thud of ash falling to the ground.

He instinctively looked up at the distant Tokyo Skytree—the iconic building that once shone brightly in the Tokyo night sky was now pitch black, its surface covered with some indescribable, writhing shadow. Yamada felt a wave of dizziness, quickly looked down, gripped the folding knife in his pocket, and quickened his pace.

The text message alerted me that the distribution point for the supplies was located near the post office, not far from the apartment.

When Yamada arrived, the line was very long, with people huddled together like frightened livestock.

Several police officers were using megaphones to maintain order, their voices weak and feeble in the hazy air. A few others in plainclothes, seemingly volunteers, were spreading salt along the street; the white salt grains mixed with ash to create a filthy mud.

Salt is said to ward off evil spirits.

Yamada silently walked to the end of the line... at least there were people here.

He arrived relatively early and secretly rejoiced that he should be able to receive the supplies.

One per person! Please do not crowd!

As the staff on site called out to them, the procession slowly moved forward.

Yamada overheard people whispering in front of and behind him—

"What exactly happened?"

"I saw something strange wandering in the street last night..."

"Didn't you hear about the doomsday prophecy from not long ago? The end of the world is coming, no... it's already here."

"..."

Doomsday prophecy.

Hiroshi Yamada does seem to have heard of this.

At that time, the world was relatively normal.

The so-called doomsday prophecy is nothing more than alarmist talk from a cartoonist who claims to have precognitive abilities.

At least, that was the opinion of the vast majority of people at the beginning.

The uneasy crowd continued to move forward, but just as Yamada finally reached the middle of the line, a riot broke out—

A young man with a buzz cut and a strange stone hammer slung over his back appeared to be one of the volunteers. For some reason, this buzz-cut youth suddenly walked straight to the side of the crowd and pulled a middle-aged woman out from in front of Yamada.

The young man was surprisingly strong; he lifted the woman up with just one hand.

“Madam, you can’t stay here. You have… Anyway, you have to come with me.”

"Let go! Let go of me... You can't! You have no right to do this!"

"This is for your own good," the crew-cut youth said calmly.

The woman struggled hysterically: "Let me go! I won't go with you! It's all the same everywhere, monsters everywhere! We'll all die, we'll all die!"

Her voice abruptly stopped, her eyes rolled back, and her body convulsed violently like a marionette, her limbs twisting and swinging at abnormal angles. Under the horrified gazes of the crowd, she suddenly fell forward, her knees slamming heavily onto the ground, sending up a cloud of ashes.

"Ho...ho..."

A strange, bellows-like sound came from her throat, and her back heaved violently. Suddenly, she raised her head, her mouth splitting into a grin that revealed teeth covered in phlegm—

The next second, swarms of densely packed white maggots gushed from her mouth, scattering like boiling rice porridge onto the ashes-covered ground, wriggling and rolling incessantly.

This horrifying scene caused an uproar among the crowd, with screams and shoving all around.

boom!
Gunfire rang out.

The volunteers, led by the crew-cut youth, almost simultaneously pulled out yellow talismans, which ignited with bright flames in their hands.

"Back off! Everyone back off!"

These people are clearly not just volunteers.

As Yamada fled with the panicked crowd, he glanced back and caught a glimpse of the final scene—

The crew-cut youth stood tall on the ashes-strewn street. The burning talisman in his hand landed in front of the middle-aged woman, causing the wriggling white maggots to melt like wax, emitting a pungent, burnt smell.

The distribution counter at the post office entrance had been overturned by the dispersing crowd, and the few remaining boxes of supplies had been looted and trampled beyond recognition...

……

Yamada ran desperately back to the apartment building, panting heavily in the stairwell.

His hands trembled as he fumbled for the key, but he couldn't get it into the lock of his apartment building.

At this moment——

"Mr. Yamada?"

"Ah!" Yamada Hiroshi cried out in surprise, turning around abruptly and drawing his folding knife, swinging it wildly. Only after he could see the figure several meters away did he breathe a sigh of relief and slowly put down the knife.

It's Ms. Asano.

Hiroshi Yamada's neighbor, a kind old woman.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." Hiroshi Yamada apologized incoherently, his voice still trembling, "So many things happened today..."

"Mr. Yamada, you've gone out?" Ms. Asano's voice was unusually calm. "Did you go to collect supplies?"

She had obviously also received a text message from the city hall.

“Yes, but something very strange happened.” Yamada Hiroshi took a deep breath. “I didn’t receive anything.”

"Really? That's terrible, that's terrible."

The old woman spoke these words, her eyes and tone sounding vacant than usual.

But in the current situation, who can remain normal?
"Ms. Asano, um... I'd like to ask..." Facing this usually kind-hearted old woman, Yamada thought of something but found it difficult to ask, "Do you have any extra food at home?"

"Ah, I don't have any at home either." The old woman slowly shook her head, raised her hand to gently stroke her abdomen, and showed a strange expression of satisfaction on her face. "But, it's okay, it's okay, I've found a way."

"Method?"

"Yes, as long as you sincerely worship the gods, you won't go hungry, and everything will be alright."

"What...are you saying?" Hiroshi Yamada felt a sense of unease.

“Didn’t you see it? There—” Ms. Asano pointed to the gray sky outside the corridor window, “That magnificent torii gate is a miracle. If you pray to it… things will get better.”

Yamada Hiroshi looked in the direction she was pointing and saw that the sky was still covered with dark clouds, and ashes were falling like snow, but there was nothing else.

Just as he was feeling surprised and uneasy, Ms. Asano had already quietly walked past him.

Just as Yamada Hiroshi was wondering about this, Ms. Asano had already left his side.

"Where...are you going?"

"I want to tell everyone in the building this good news..." The old woman's voice gradually faded away, her words still carrying a strangely calm emptiness, "As long as we pray to the gods, everything will be alright."

Her figure quickly disappeared around the corner of the stairs, her last whisper echoing in the empty hallway:

"Everyone will be alright."

……

A curfew is in effect in Tokyo at night.

But for Hiroshi Yamada, this meant nothing.

Whether it's day or night, the surrounding environment is the same. Moreover, after what happened at the post office, he never dared to step out of the apartment building again.

The lights in the room were still on, but Yamada didn't turn on the television again. Instead, he found an old radio. The knobs made a screeching sound as they turned, followed by a continuous hum.

At this moment, even hearing news from the outside world seems like a luxury.

"I need it...I need it..."

Yamada repeated unconsciously, his fingers digging deep into his hair.

Hunger felt like an invisible hand, gripping Yamada's stomach tightly.

Hunger gripped his stomach like an invisible hand. He gulped down glass after glass of tap water; the cold water temporarily eased the burning sensation, but only intensified the emptiness. He opened the empty refrigerator again, rummaged through every drawer in the kitchen, but couldn't find a single thing to fill his stomach.

It was all in vain.

He is too hungry.

In despair, Yamada inexplicably pulled out the folding knife. The cold touch of the metal sent a chill down his spine, and the blade reflected a blinding glint in the light. "Perhaps the others in the building still have food..."

The moment the thought crossed his mind, he was horrified by it.

The knife clattered to the ground, and he staggered back a few steps, crashing into the wall.

"No, I can not……"

Hiroshi Yamada remembered the woman who vomited maggots, but then, Ms. Asano's words echoed in his mind like a curse: "As long as you pray to the gods, everything will be alright..."

buzz-

The noise from the radio was incessant, unlike ordinary static interference; it was a deep, rhythmic hum, like the heartbeat of some enormous creature.

"Everyone will be alright."

As if in response to this thought, a strange light shone through the living room curtains.

As if realizing something, Yamada Hiroshi suddenly stood up and pulled back the curtains. The sight before him took his breath away; the sky was no longer a gloomy gray expanse—

A colossal torii gate stands tall against the sky!

Its scale far exceeds that of any human-made building.

Unlike the usual red torii gates, this one, which appeared abruptly in the sky, was as black as ink, its surface covered with dark red veins that seemed to pulsate slowly. Decaying moonlight seeped through the gaps in the dark clouds, casting a sickly silvery glow over the torii gate.

Behind the torii gate, the outline of a distorted shrine can be vaguely seen, its eaves piercing the earth like intertwined skeletons.

miracle……

Is this the miracle that Ms. Asano was talking about?
Hiroshi Yamada's breathing became rapid. He felt an inexplicable attraction, as if the torii gates and shrines in the sky were calling his name.

buzz-

The radio hummed incessantly, the noise sounding like countless people murmuring underground.

"Izanami...Ashiya Doman...the underworld is coming..."

They were so joyful, so praying.

Just months ago, Hiroshi Yamada was a staunch atheist. But now, his eyes were bloodshot, he knelt on the ground, and his lips moved involuntarily to the point of uttering empty murmurs:
"Izanami...Ashiya Doman...the underworld is coming..."

The hunger miraculously disappeared, replaced by a feeling of fullness stirring in my stomach...

Ms. Asano is right.

everything will get better.

……

The Tokyo night sky remained gray and lifeless.

There were no torii gates or shrines; they never existed.

Inside the apartment building, only Hiroshi Yamada, whose abdomen was strangely swollen, remained with his forehead pressed to the ground, like a sacrificial offering nailed to an altar.

buzz-

At a certain moment, the interference from the radio channels in the room suddenly disappeared.

Intermittent sounds came from within—

"Urgent Notice... If you hallucinate seeing a torii gate in the sky, do not worship... I repeat, do not worship!" (End of Chapter)