Chapter Text
The first thing Niko felt was cold.
Not the comfortable cold of autumn mornings when Mama would wrap him in blankets, or the playful cold of winter snow.
This was different...
Empty, hollow, wrong. Like the world itself had forgotten what warmth meant.
The second thing he felt was the familiar tickle in his nose.
Oh no.
Niko's eyes snapped open to complete darkness. His heart hammered against his ribs as he sat up, hands immediately flying to his face. The tickle became a trickle, warm and wet, and he knew without seeing what it was.
"No, no, no..." he whispered, his voice small and frightened in the dark. His hands came away sticky. Even without light, he knew they were red.
Where am I?
This wasn't his bedroom. This wasn't his house. The bed beneath him was unfamiliar, the mattress lumpy and old. The air smelled like dust and abandonment, nothing like Mama's cooking or the lavender soap she used on his clothes.
Panic clawed at his chest. He needed tissue. He needed light. He needed-
Mama?
"Mama?" Niko called out, his voice cracking. No answer came.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet touching cold wooden floorboards. Squinting in the darkness, he could barely make out shapes: a bookshelf, a desk, something that might be a computer.
A computer?
A faint glow emanated from near the window - just enough to see by. Niko stumbled forward, one hand pinching his nose, the other outstretched.
His fingers found the desk, then the computer monitor. It was on standby, a dim blue light pulsing like a heartbeat. (okay?)
Maybe... maybe someone was here. Maybe they could help.
Niko pressed the power button.
The screen flickered to life, far too bright in the darkness. He squinted against it, blinking away tears. A login screen stared back at him:
ENTER PASSWORD
Four empty boxes. Above each box, a number in a different color:
- Box 1: Green
- Box 2: Blue
- Box 3: Red
- Box 4: Yellow
"What...?" Niko's voice came out nasally, muffled by the hand still covering his nose.
Drip...
Drip...
Drip...
Blood was dripping onto the keyboard now, small dark spots on the dusty keys.
He didn't know the password. How could he? He didn't even know where he was!
Frustrated, Niko turned the computer off. The room plunged back into darkness, save for that faint glow from the window.
Think, Niko. Mama always says you're good at puzzles.
But he was scared. And his nose hurt. And he wanted to go home.
Niko turned toward the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines. Everything was covered in dust, thick, and choking dust that made him want to sneeze. The titles were impossible to read in the dim light, and even if he could read them, what good would books do?
He needed to get out.
Two doors. Niko could barely make them out in the gloom. He walked to the first one, tried the handle.
Locked.
No. No, no, no-
His breathing quickened. He was trapped. Trapped in a dark room with no tissues and a nose that wouldn't stop bleeding and-
The window. That soft glow was coming from the window.
Niko walked over, careful not to trip over anything. The window was grimy, but through it, he could see... buildings? Shapes in the darkness. And below, on the floor near the window-
A bathroom door. He'd missed it in the darkness.
Niko practically ran to it, nearly tripping over his own feet. This one wasn't locked. The door swung open to reveal a small, grimy bathroom, but it had a sink. A bathtub. And a mirror.
He flipped the light switch.
Nothing.
Of course. No power.
But the window's glow gave just enough light. Niko approached the mirror, and his reflection stared back—a small boy, nine years old, with messy hair and frightened eyes. His upper lip and chin were smeared with blood.
Small red spots dotted his nose and cheeks—telangiectasias, Mama called them. Little broken blood vessels.
"Where am I?" he whispered to his reflection.
His reflection didn't answer.
Niko turned on the sink faucet, not expecting anything.
Water rushed out—cold, ice-cold, but it was water.
He nearly cried with relief. Cupping his hands, he washed his face, the blood swirling pink down the drain. The water stung his sore nose, but at least he could see now. At least he was clean.
Five minutes passed. The bleeding slowed, then stopped—for now. It always came back. It always did.
Niko noticed a withered plant on the bathroom windowsill—some kind of flower, long dead. One brittle leaf clung to its stem. Without thinking, he touched it.
The leaf fell into his palm.
He stared at it for a moment, then carefully tucked it into his pocket. He didn't know why. Maybe because it was the only living thing—well, formerly living thing—he'd found in this awful place.
Never mind.
Back in the bedroom, Niko's eyes had adjusted better to the darkness. And there, on the floor near the window where the soft glow came from—
A remote control.
Niko picked it up, walking closer to the window to see it clearly. Four buttons, each a different color:
- Blue: 1
- Green: 7
- Yellow: 0
- Red: 4
Four colors. Four numbers. Four password boxes.
Wait.
Niko's heart leaped—
The computer! The password boxes were colored!
He ran back to the desk, remote still in hand, and booted up the computer again. The login screen appeared:
ENTER PASSWORD
Green box. Blue box. Red box. Yellow box.
Green = 7
Blue = 1
Red = 4
Yellow = 0
Niko typed: 7-1-4-0
The computer screen flashed.
ACCESS GRANTED
"Yes!" Niko whispered, a small smile breaking through his fear.
The desktop loaded—barren, with only a few icons. And then, before Niko could click anything, a message window popped up:
"..."
Niko blinked. "What...?"
He moved the mouse to click the X button—
"It seems I've been finally found."
The window closed itself. Another opened:
"You're both far too late. Nothing left is worth saving."
Niko's eyes widened. You're both? He looked around the empty room. There was no one else here. He was alone!
Another message:
"Surely Niko wants to leave, and there's nobody happier to fulfill that request than me."
My name—
Niko jerked back from the computer, his chair scraping against the floor. "How do you know my name?!" he shouted into the empty room.
Drip.
Warm wetness on his upper lip. His nose was bleeding again.
Drip. Drip.
Blood spotted the keyboard—small red drops on the dusty white keys.
"Keep in mind three things:"
Niko wanted to run, but he couldn't look away from the screen.
"First, your decisions have permanent consequences."
What did that mean? What decisions?
"Second, you may quit whenever you'd like. This is permanent failure... and murder."
Murder?
Niko's hands were shaking. His nose was bleeding faster now, dripping onto his shirt.
"And most importantly..."
The screen went black.
Then, in white text that seemed to burn into Niko's vision:
"You only have one shot, Zara."
The computer shut itself down.
"Wait—!" Niko pressed the power button frantically, but nothing happened. The computer was dead, as if it had never been on at all.
Zara?
Who was Zara?
A click echoed through the room—loud in the oppressive silence.
The door. The first door he'd tried.
It was unlocked now.
Niko stood on trembling legs, using his sleeve to wipe the blood from his nose. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
You only have one shot.
What did that mean..?
He walked to the door, gripped the handle, and pulled it open.
A living room stretched before him, even darker than the bedroom. Cold air rushed in, making Niko shiver. He could barely make out shapes—a couch, a fireplace, what might be a kitchen counter, a TV.
Everything was covered in dust and decay.
"Hello?" Niko called out. His voice sounded so small.
No answer.
His nose was still bleeding. He needed tissue—Mama always made sure he had tissue, always kept boxes in every room because she knew, she knew he needed them—
The kitchen counter. There!
A tissue box.
Niko ran for it, nearly tripping over something in the darkness. His hands found the box and he pulled out tissue after tissue—
ACHOO!
The dust. The dusty, awful dust on the tissues made him sneeze violently. Blood splattered across the counter, across his hands, across the tissue box.
But despite everything—despite the fear and the darkness and not knowing where he was—Niko laughed. A small, slightly hysterical giggle.
Because it was so absurd. So perfectly, terribly absurd.
He cleaned his face, pressing fresh tissue to his nose. The bleeding was slowing again. For now.
Niko looked around the living room, tissue box tucked under his arm—he was bringing the whole thing, dust and all. He knew why. He always needed more than he thought.
Two doors led out of the living room. One had a strange hole in it—shaped like... a lightbulb?
The other looked like it led to a basement. Niko tried it.
Locked.
He turned his attention back to the room, letting his eyes adjust. There was a fireplace—empty and cold. A broken TV. A couch with springs poking through. A kitchen with a refrigerator.
Niko opened the fridge, not expecting anything.
A single bottle sat on the shelf. He pulled it out, squinting at the label in the darkness.
Alcohol. Rubbing alcohol.
An idea sparked in his mind—the kind of connection Mama always praised him for making.
The withered branch in his pocket. The alcohol. The fireplace. The TV.
Niko's hands moved almost on autopilot:
He pulled out the dead plant branch.
Uncapped the alcohol bottle.
Dipped the branch into the liquid, soaking it thoroughly.
Walked to the TV—its screen was cracked, but the back was exposed.
He scraped the branch against the internal wiring. Once. Twice.
A spark.
The alcohol-soaked branch caught fire.
Niko carefully carried the flaming branch to the fireplace and set it inside. The flames grew, catching on old paper and kindling he hadn't noticed before.
Heat. Beautiful, wonderful heat.
And light.
The room was suddenly visible, painted in flickering orange and gold.
Something glinted on the floor near the fireplace.
A key.
Niko picked it up with shaking hands and walked to the basement door. The key slid in smoothly.
The door unlocked.
Behind it, stairs led down into pitch-black darkness—a long, long descent.
Niko swallowed hard, tissue box under one arm, dead computer messages echoing in his mind.
Your decisions have permanent consequences.
You only have one shot.
But what choice did he have?
He had to go down.
The stairs creaked under his feet, each step taking him deeper into the unknown. Down, down, down, until finally—
Another door.
Niko opened it.
A room. Small, empty except for one thing sitting on a pedestal in the center.
A lightbulb.
Not just any lightbulb—it glowed softly, warmly, like concentrated sunlight. Like hope made tangible.
Niko approached it slowly, mesmerized. His hand reached out—
The moment his fingers touched the glass—
FLASH
Blinding light. The world turned white.
Niko squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the lightbulb to his chest. It was warm. So warm.
When he opened his eyes, he was back in the living room.
The lightbulb was still in his hands, still glowing.
And the door with the lightbulb-shaped hole was directly in front of him.
Niko's breath caught. He walked forward, almost in a trance, and placed the lightbulb into the hole.
FLASH
White light consumed everything. Niko felt weightless, like he was falling and flying at the same time. The world spun—
And then stopped.
Niko opened his eyes.
He was outside.
But not outside his home. Not anywhere he recognized.
He stood in front of a massive building—all metal and rust and broken machinery. The lightbulb was still in his hands, warm and glowing.
Above him, the sky was a murky gray-blue, like permanent twilight. The air smelled like metal and dust.
And everywhere—everywhere he looked—blue sand stretched out across a desolate landscape.
Dead trees jutted from the ground like skeletal hands. Rusted machinery and metal debris lay half-buried in the sand, as if some great civilization had built itself here and then simply... stopped.
In the distance, impossibly tall and impossibly far, a tower pierced the sky.
Niko's legs felt weak. The tissue box slipped from his grip, falling into the blue sand.
"Where..." His voice came out as a whisper. "Where am I?"
The world was silent except for the wind moving through broken metal, creating haunting, hollow sounds.
Niko took a step forward, then another.
The landscape was bleak, desolate, post-industrial—a graveyard of machines under a polluted sky.
But ahead, he could see lights. Small ones. And shapes moving between buildings.
People? Maybe people?
Maybe someone who could tell him where he was. How to get home. How to find Mama.
Niko clutched the lightbulb closer to his chest—its warmth was the only comfort he had—and started walking.
His nose was bleeding again.
He didn't have any more tissues.
But he kept walking anyway.