The Nightmare City

**Part 2: "Fragments of the Past"**

The hum grows louder as Shin moves deeper into the decaying building, his every step creaking underfoot. The walls are lined with peeling wallpaper, and dust hangs thick in the air, undisturbed by time or wind. As he walks through the dimly lit hallway, he feels a strange pull, as though the building itself is guiding him, drawing him toward something important. He can't explain it, but he feels it deep within him—a sense of urgency.

He approaches the first door on his left, its wood warped and cracked. The faint hum is now almost unbearable, and without thinking, he reaches out and slowly opens it. The door creaks loudly, as if protesting its own movement, but Shin steps inside.

The room is small, barely lit by a broken lamp in the corner. The furniture is old and covered in dust, with no signs of recent use. The air feels still, stagnant, but as Shin's eyes adjust, something catches his attention—a small, ornate chest resting in the center of the room, slightly ajar. The hum is louder now, coming from the chest, vibrating through the floorboards and into his bones.

Shin moves toward it, drawn by an inexplicable need to open it. His fingers tremble as they brush against the cold metal lid. The chest creaks open, revealing a shattered mirror inside, its pieces scattered like broken shards of a shattered soul. He stares at the pieces, the reflection distorted in a way that makes him feel nauseous.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, as if the mirror has a will of its own, the shards begin to glow faintly. A voice echoes in his mind, whispering a single word: *remember.*

Shin flinches and stumbles back. The fragments of the mirror shudder, almost as if they are alive. His heart pounds in his chest as the glow intensifies, enveloping the room. And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything stops. The hum fades, the glow dims, and the room returns to its static silence.

But Shin is no longer alone.

In the center of the room stands a figure—a shadowy silhouette, its features indistinguishable in the low light. Shin freezes, his breath caught in his throat. The figure doesn't move, doesn't speak, but Shin feels its presence, like a heavy weight pressing against him.

"What is this?" Shin whispers, though he isn't sure who he's asking.

The figure doesn't respond, but Shin feels something—an emotion, an understanding. The shadow seems to beckon him, its form flickering like a wisp of smoke. Slowly, cautiously, Shin approaches. As he draws closer, the figure begins to dissolve, shifting like sand caught in the wind. A gust of cold air brushes past him, and in its wake, a single object is left behind.

A small, old photograph lies on the floor. Shin picks it up carefully, his fingers brushing against the faded edges. The photograph is grainy, the edges worn with time. It shows a group of people standing together in front of a building that looks strangely familiar—like the one he's in now. But it's not just the building that catches his attention; it's the people in the photograph.

There's a woman, standing in the center, her eyes filled with a quiet sadness. Beside her stands a man, his face obscured by shadow, but his posture is familiar, almost too familiar. It's Shin. Or at least, it looks like him. But the man in the photograph is smiling—a look Shin has never seen on his own face. And there's a child, too, standing at the woman's side, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

Shin's heart skips a beat as he studies the photo. There's something deeply unsettling about it, like a part of him is hidden within the image, waiting to be remembered. He can't shake the feeling that these people know him, that they are somehow tied to his past, but their names, their identities, escape him.

As he holds the photo, the room around him begins to shift once again. The walls flicker like static on a television, and the hum returns, faint at first but growing louder, like the heartbeat of the building itself. The room warps, and for a brief moment, Shin sees the figure of the shadowy presence again, this time standing behind the woman in the photograph.

The vision vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and Shin is left standing in the center of the room, the photograph still clenched tightly in his hand. His head is spinning, memories surfacing like fragments in a stormy sea, but none of them clear enough to grasp. He feels something—like a door is opening in his mind, but it's still locked, just out of reach.

"Why can't I remember?" he mutters, staring down at the photo. The people in it feel like part of a dream, distant and intangible, but the emotion they invoke is real—raw, like a wound that hasn't healed.

He turns the photograph over, searching for something on the back, but it's blank. No names, no dates—just emptiness.

Suddenly, the ground shakes, a loud crack reverberating through the building. The floor beneath Shin's feet shifts, and he stumbles, barely catching himself against the wall. The rumbling intensifies, and he hears the unmistakable sound of something large moving in the distance.

The nightmare isn't over. In fact, it's only just begun.

Without thinking, Shin tucks the photograph into his pocket and turns toward the source of the noise. He doesn't know what's coming, but he can feel it—something monstrous, something that has been waiting for him.

Shin takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The monsters are getting closer. He can hear their footsteps now, growing louder by the second.

This time, he's ready. He has to face whatever comes next.

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