Grey: Monsters

" So this is the end, the sun sure looks good"

***

"Fap, fap, fap."

I stroke my meat, eyes glued to the TV. On the screen, five guys are pounding away at some girl, taking turns while she moans and screams. Some might call me a loser for getting off to this, but I don't give a damn. If watching this masterpiece makes me a loser, then to hell with the world.

"Fap, fap, fap."

My hand moves faster as another guy enters the scene. His dick is massive, almost making the girl scream out. But it's still not as big as mine. My size is the one thing I can actually be proud of in this miserable life. I imagine myself in that room, making her cry for real. The thought alone almost makes me laugh.

"Fap, fap, fap."

I can feel it coming. How long has it been? Doesn't matter. I glance at the wall clock, but it's too dark to see anything. Who cares? I turn back to the screen, focusing on the scene in front of me.

"Fap, fap, fap—splash."

Finally, I explode, shooting seven million potential lives all over myself and the floor.

"Ahh, that's the feeling."

For a minute, I'm calm. Pleasure washes over me, but then, as usual, the guilt kicks in. That post-nut clarity, they call it. I drag myself up off the floor, feeling dizzy and nauseous. How long was I at it? Half an hour? An hour? I don't even know, but it felt like forever.

I clap my hands, and the light in my room flickers on, revealing the mess I live in. Tissue papers, soda cans, bottles, plates, pizza boxes—everything is scattered everywhere. My clothes are mixed in with the trash. My neighbors always complain about the stench coming from my room, but I can't smell anything.

Maybe they're just lying. Scumbags.

I feel something sticky on my dick and realize I'm still leaking. I wipe it off with my finger and smear it on the wall. Another piece of art for my collection.

In front of me is my chair and my PC. I sit down and turn it on. This is my daily routine: wake up, eat snacks, beat my meat, play games, then sleep. Repeat.

You're probably wondering how I afford this lifestyle. Well, I don't. My mom is loaded, and all it takes is a quick call for the money to roll into my account.

Bling.

Right on cue, my phone buzzes. I pick it up and see a notification—six hundred thousand yen, just like that. I laugh to myself. My mom spoils me because I'm her only child. I was supposed to be the second, but my older sister died in a car accident before I was born. That's what they tell me, anyway. And my dad died from some illness not long after I was born, so it's just been me and my mom. She treats me like I'm all she's got.

I open the fridge, but there's nothing in there except for a bottle of soda. I guess I should restock.

"B2," I call out.

"Yes, Master!" a cute robotic voice replies.

"Prepare a hot shower for me and get my clothes ready. I'm heading out."

Normally, I'd just order everything online, but for some reason, I feel like taking a walk. It's been over two months since I last stepped outside. Maybe that's why I'm feeling so dizzy.

I hold my head as the dizziness hits me again.

After my shower, I spray on some deodorant and glance at myself in the mirror. Oh yeah, I haven't introduced myself.

My name is Tokita Ryuma. I'm 19 years old and technically a college student, though I'm living the NEET life. I've got messy dark hair, dull eyes with dark circles under them from all the sleepless nights. I look athletic, but don't be fooled—I can't even run 100 meters without collapsing.

The sky's always been dark and gloomy, at least as far back as I can remember. Those orbs floating around up there? Yeah, they've been around longer than I've been alive. People say the sky used to be clear and blue, but I have a hard time believing that.

I take the elevator down to the ground floor of my twenty five-story apartment building. As I step out, the security chief, an old woman in a uniform, walks up to me.

"Good day, ma'am," I say out of habit.

"Good evening, son. A package arrived for you this morning." She hands me a triangular object wrapped in plain paper.

"Thanks, ma'am," I mumble, taking the package as I walk away. I unwrap it, and inside is a family photo—my dad, my mom, and me. My dad's holding me in his arms, and I can't help but notice how much I look like him. The only difference is, his eyes are full of life, while mine look dead inside.

There's a letter attached to the back. It's from my mom, reminding me that today is my dad's death anniversary. She wants me to come home to Yokohama, but making the trip from Tokyo feels impossible right now.

"I'm sorry mum but I think I'll make it up to you another day"

I rewrap the photo and head to the store. I'm sure my mom will understand.

At the store, I grab snacks, drinks, and some painkillers for the dizziness. When I get to the counter, a female robot rings me up. I can't help but notice its features—it almost looks human. My mind wanders to the idea of getting one of those robot wives that are all the rage. Maybe that'd make things less lonely.

As I'm making my payment, the ground starts to shake. Another earthquake, nothing new in Tokyo. I look around, and everyone seems unfazed, so I continue with my transaction. But then I hear screams from outside. This time, people are actually panicking.

Curious, I walk to the door, and it slides open automatically. The sky outside is…purple. What the hell?

People are running toward the mall, and I have no idea why. I look up at the sky again, and I notice something strange—most of the orbs were missing, the once that remained are glowing with a purple light. Then I see them—things flying through the air. They're not planes, and they're not birds either.

"What the fuck?"

One of them crashes into the mall with insane speed, and the impact sends me flying into a parked car. I feel like my insides are scrambled.

"Blegh."

I cough up blood. It hurts to breathe, and every time I try, a sharp pain shoots through my chest. I try to stand, but my body won't cooperate. Everything feels shaky. Damn dizziness.

I try again and again, but I can't move. Eventually, it hits me—I'm not moving because I'm weak or because something's holding me down.

I can't move because…

"I'm dead."