Something was dripping, dripping, driping...

  Luca woke up with a gasp, eyes frenzied. His head pounded, a dull ache spreading through his skull.

  Fuck. I wasn’t expecting this, he thought. Around him, the world came into focus in fragments—blurred and disorienting—accompanied by a faint smell of combustible material and solid ground beneath him.

  The message materialized out of thin air before him, a dark stripe with white letters, before fading away. It was the same message he had seen only an instant ago, but now, to say things were different was an understatement.

  Dull pain and unpleasant memories lingered as he tried to adjust to his new situation under this 'warm welcome'. Luckly, the headache began to fade after an instant. Raising a hand to his face, he noticed the goggles he’d worn before were missing. It was almost like this wasn’t a simulation. Almost. As his hand went to his neck, he noticed he also didn’t have his medallion.

  His fingers trembled slightly as he left his hand fall, scanning his surroundings to locate his current position and the dangers that could already awaiting for him. There was a white van next to him, its bulk useful for cover. Beyond it, the street stretched out under the glow of old-fashioned streetlights. Rust and dirt clung to it, giving the only source of light a quite ugly look.

  Well, everything here was ugly.

  As he continued looking around, he found that there were three houses standing on both sides of the street. Its wooden doors were cracked and their unglazed windows stood barred, resembling a scene of Misery at first glance. Narrow alleys twisted between the properties, with a few cars parked on the street. The area was surrounded by worn-out trees and distant mountains. There was no escape that way.

  No.

  Unless you could pass through the thick, impenetrable fog that sealed off both ends of the street and everything beyond. But, if this Interview was built like a Mystery, then it was useless to even try. This place was an isolated area, a small pocket of space.

  The chill of the floor spread through his body as he stayed there, his eyes wandering across the setting.

  Although he expected something like this, living it himself was a whole different level.

  His eyes grew sharper. He was lucky, in a way.

  The view of the area was clear from there, and most importantly, he had some cover to work with. Others weren’t so fortunate. A man lay face down in the middle of the street, still, his body sprawled in front of the house on the other corner, before a red car. Nearby, a woman stood frozen under a streetlight, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. She sat there as still as a statue. The excitement she had shown before this moment had evaporated.

  There was no hint of the remaining eight. Maybe they had been luckier and had spawned inside the houses or between the alleys.

  Even as Luca tried to remain calm, his heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing growing uncomfortably noisy. What a headache. This damned ‘Technical Test’ was too similar to some old experiences, years ago. Before—before this life. But well, he at least had some experience about how to move slowly, quietly.

  No sudden movements. No standing up. No running. No screaming.

  He had one goal in mind, the same one etched that flickered in front of him before fading to the corner of his eyes, waiting for him to recognize it.

  Yeah. That.

  The meaning was obvious, even to those slow. If Pendulum was asking them to survive, it meant something was coming for them.

  As if in cue to his thoughts, a mechanical snarl pierced the false calm of the night. Luca’s eyes snapped to the corner of the street. Slowly, something revealed itself. First it was the tip of a chainsaw, the metal glinting under the yellow streetlight. Thick, dark liquid dripped from its jagged teeth, pooling on the asphalt below.

  The killer's weapon was gripped by a leather-gloved hand. It belonged to a tall figure—a thing that might, might have once been human. Once. But the same could not be said now.

  A dirty brown jacket hung from its broad shoulders, the fabric saturated with dark stains that looked wet under the light. Around its neck hung a makeshift necklace: lumpy, meaty orbs strung together. But—on closer inspection, they weren’t just lumps—they were human ears.

  Trophies.

  No one with a single shred of common sense would dare to fight that.

  So, hiding is the only way, then, thought Luca, as if he hadn’t been prepared for this the instant he saw where he was. This setting was familiar to him, after all. And that killer—Luca knew about him, even if it had been only on the pages of a book. He still wasn’t sure if he should refer to him as a 'him' or as an 'it.'

  Chainsaw Man stepped into the street, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel. He paused under the streetlight, his head tilting languidly, like a predator catching the scent of its next meal. His face—partially obscured by a rusted, reddish plastic mask—turned toward the darkness, scanning the street.

  No, Mr. Chainsaw knew exactly what he was doing.

  The hunt had begun.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  From his hiding spot, Luca’s eyes grew sharper as his mind raced. Chainsaw Man hadn’t seen him yet—and wouldn’t if he wasn’t careless. But—he glanced at the others: the man still lying motionless in the street, the woman frozen under the streetlight.

  In truth, now was when what Pendulum needed from the applicants shone. M-level. Even an additional 0.1 could mean the difference between those who could adapt, those who would understand what needed to be done, and those who weren’t even awake. The former would be taken; the latter, well… they weren’t enough.

  Luca pressed his lips together, his mind racing. Chainsaw Man’s footsteps grew strident, each one heavy and deliberate, shaking the ground beneath him as if he were a giant from the old stories. The harsh sound of the chainsaw being dragged against the ground accompanied him. For now, he was still around twenty meters ahead, and most luckily, he wasn’t looking in Luca’s direction—but…

  Staying put wasn’t an option.

  Slowly, carefully, Luca backed up to the space between the van and the house’s wall. There was a door near it—but before he could even try to reach and open it, a faint sound reached his ears. Someone had locked it. Fuck. But he didn’t dwell on it —there was no time for that— so he hid himself better, watching the scene —as the massive figure became more and more defined. The necklace of ears swayed with each step. This moster seemed to be really focused on the easier prey.

  A movement caught Luca's attention. The frozen woman finally stirred, her body shuddering as if waking from a trance. But it was too late. Chainsaw Man was already closing in, his chainsaw roaring to life with a deafening crackle. The woman’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in a silent scream as the blade came down on her. She raised her hands to cover her face, not even attempting to flee, but it was totally useless.

  Luca looked away as the sound of tearing flesh and a spine-chilling scream echoed through the street. Pendulum’s report would surely mark her as 'lacking.' They were like that. Their judgment held little sympathy or care for 'excuses': waking up too slowly was the same as not waking up at all. But then, ‘dying’ now was better than really losing their lives later. And even if it was a traumatic event, they wouldn’t remember it afterward.

  It was a bit too sad to suffer such agony for free. But what could Luca say? This was something no one could help. A genetic factor, so to speak. Better to use the brief distraction to find a better place to hide.

  The message flickered in Luca’s mind, pointing out the end of that poor woman. At least there was one small mercy: this was just a tutorial. No one would die. No losing limbs, nor pieces of their soul.

  A ripping sound echoed through the night.

  Luca’s mouth twitched. That—well. The killer did like his trophies, didn’t he?

  Make sure you don’t end like that.

  Keeping his body low, Luca crept toward his next goal, making his best attempt to melt into the shadows. Chainsaw Man’s back was still turned—focused on one of his crafting time of the day. Good. On his part, Luca focused on the black sedan parked in front of the corner house. It wasn’t ideal cover—smaller and less concealing than the van—but it would have to do.

  He reached the end of the van, still crouched behind it, and peered around the edge. Meters past the other extreme of the van, Chainsaw Man was occupied, his heavy footsteps echoing as he closed in on the next victim—the man still lying unconscious in the street.

  The low roar of the chainsaw, idling but ready to act, echoed quietly. Chainsaw Man loomed over the unconscious man, slowly raising the chainsaw. For a moment, it seemed like the end was inevitable. But then, in a burst of surprising action, the man twisted violently, rolling aside just as the chainsaw bit into the ground where he had been. With a scream, the man scrambled to his feet and leapt into the street, passing by the red car at the other corner of the street.

  Although his prey was running away, the killer didn’t chase.

  Instead, Chainsaw Man let out a laugh—a sound so harsh, so unnatural that made Luca’s skin crawl. He would love to say he had never heard something like this but settled with not wanting to repeat the experience. Because—this wasn’t a laugh born from a human throat; it was the sound of something shattered, too sharp and drowned in blood and hunger to be anything else.

  It reverberated through the air, slicing through the silence and slithering into the corners like it was its own home.

  Luca felt it in his bones, a cold, primal fear that made his throat tighten for a split second.

  To provoke such a reaction in him after so many clashes with shadows.

  Well, he thought, breathing in, so that’s your skill.

  After reaching the thick mist, the man turned back and tried to reach the nearest house. But Chainsaw Man wasn’t done. With a sickening whirr, he yanked the cord of his weapon, and the chainsaw roared to life, its metallic teeth gleaming like freshly spilled blood under the streetlight. Swinging the blade in a wide arc, this motion was all the monster needed.

  The man had no time to scream. Death came too sudden for him. The chainsaw tore into his back with a wet, visceral crunch, slicing through flesh and bone as if they were napkins. Blood erupted in a cherry spray, painting the street and the blade. The man’s body convulsed, his limbs twitching uncontrollably as if his nerves were still trying to flee, before he crumpled to the ground like a discarded puppet.

  Chainsaw Man approached the mangled corpse and stood there, his shadow stretching long across the blood-soaked pavement. The chainsaw’s engine idled, its low growl filling the night as he yanked the blade free from the remains and shook it, scattering blood and flesh as though it were a tablecloth with leftovers from the previous meal. Then, he crouched and took his prize.

  Luca looked away for a moment, his stomach twisting with discomfort—some time had passed since he had faced such carnage. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.

  Two had already fallen, and there was still at least three-quarters of the time left.

  As the killer occupied himself, Luca was able to walk to the door of the house. Slipping inside, Luca didn't lock it —even though a big part of him wanted to. Technically, it could buy him enough time to flee from the back door—but it would bring the killer’s attention to that place.

  With a quick glance, he found the house was poorly lit, with the only source of light being the streetlamps outside. The big wardrobe at the end, just in plain sight, and had drew his attention the moment he slipped in looked like a tempting place to hide. But he kept looking at the rest of the place. Near him, to the right of the entrance stood a sink and a big cabinet tucked into the corner. Beyond that, a dining table for two.

  A wooden door stood at the end, less than two meters from the wardrobe.

  Instead of hiding, Luca took a few cautious steps toward the window and peered out into the street.

  The yellowish streetlights illuminated Chainsaw Man’s hulking form as he turned, his head tilting slowly, like a predator sniffing the air for its next round of food. His gaze lingered on three different points—three houses: that one, that next one, and—

  For a split second, it felt like those dead-like eyes looked toward his direction.

  Then, with a low, guttural chuckle, Chainsaw Man made his decision and began to move. His heavy boots thundered against the pavement as he resumed his hunt. Each step was deliberate, coldly calculated, and in his gloved hand, the damned weapon purred.

  Luca’s eyes sharpened, feeling his body growing tense.

  Is he coming to…?