Dead Man's Tales: HSOTD

The streets of Tokyo were unrecognizable. 

From inside the tank, Takashi squinted at the live drone feed displayed on the array of monitors before him. The once-bustling metropolis had become a war zone. Skyscrapers leaned at unnatural angles, their steel frames twisted like paper. The ground was littered with wrecked vehicles, burning debris, and bodies—thousands of bodies. Fires roared unchecked, their smoke painting the sky in hues of black and orange. 

"Jesus Christ," Rika muttered, her voice trembling as she stared at the carnage through the periscope. Her fingers, though steady, gripped the tank's machine gun tighter than usual. "It's worse than I thought. This isn't a city anymore… it's a graveyard." 

Takashi leaned forward, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his glove. "Graveyard doesn't even cover it. It's hell." 

The tank—a heavily reinforced Type 10 MBT, its armor augmented with scavenged plating and experimental defenses—rolled steadily over the debris-strewn streets. The sound of its treads crushing mangled cars and fallen streetlights echoed through the desolation, muffled only by the constant rumble of explosions and the distant, guttural howls of monsters. 

On the monitors, the drones painted an even grimmer picture. Takashi toggled between feeds, each showing a new horror. One screen displayed a bird's-eye view of a monstrous creature that looked like a pile of flesh and teeth, dragging itself through the ruins of Shinjuku. Another feed showed a group of civilians desperately running through an alley, only to be torn apart by tendrils erupting from the ground. 

But what made Takashi's stomach churn the most were the white humanoids. 

"Rika, look," Takashi said, pointing to one of the feeds. 

The screen showed an army of pale, featureless figures—impossibly tall, their limbs unnaturally long and thin—marching in eerie synchronization. They moved with unnatural speed, rushing in from the outskirts of the city, their movements fluid yet mechanical. As they advanced, they tore apart anything in their path—cars, rubble, even humans—without hesitation. 

"What the hell are those things?" Rika whispered, her eyes narrowing. 

Takashi shook his head. "They're not Shoko's. That's for sure." 

The feed zoomed in, revealing the creatures more clearly. Their skin—if it could even be called that—was smooth and glossy, almost reflective. Their faces were blank, devoid of eyes, mouths, or any recognizable features. But despite their lack of expression, their purpose was clear. 

"They're organized," Rika said, her tone grim. "This isn't random chaos. They're pushing toward the city center, cutting through everything in their way. Like they have orders." 

"That means there's something—someone—controlling them," Takashi said, his jaw tightening. "We knew Shoko wasn't the only threat, but this…" 

Rika exhaled sharply, pulling her focus back to the periscope. "Doesn't matter. Not right now. Shoko's still priority one. We've been preparing for him for months. If we don't stop him now, none of this will matter." 

Takashi nodded, though his gaze lingered on the screen. The white humanoids were terrifying, but they were distant—for now. Shoko was close. 

---

The tank rumbled forward, the reinforced armor holding firm as flaming debris rained down from above. Rika adjusted the turret, scanning for threats. A massive shadow passed overhead, and Takashi caught a glimpse of a winged monster through the viewport—a grotesque hybrid of bat and human, its leathery wings tearing through the air as it screeched and swooped low. 

"Hold on!" Rika shouted, swiveling the turret. The tank jolted as the cannon fired, the deafening blast cutting through the chaos. The shell struck the creature mid-air, tearing its torso apart in a spray of dark ichor. The remains crashed to the ground in a heap, twitching before falling still. 

"Nice shot," Takashi said, gripping the controls. 

"Don't thank me yet," Rika muttered, her eyes narrowing. Ahead, a cluster of smaller monsters—twisted, crab-like things with too many legs and snapping pincers—scuttled toward them. 

Takashi accelerated, the tank roaring as it barreled through the creatures, crushing them beneath its treads. Their black blood sprayed across the windows, smearing the glass with viscous streaks. 

"We're close," Takashi said, glancing at the map on his screen. "Shoko's detention center is just a few blocks away." 

"Let's hope there's something left to detain," Rika muttered. 

The detention center was a fortress—or at least, it had been. The building was massive, its concrete walls reinforced with steel and barbed wire, designed to hold the worst of society. Now, it was a crumbling ruin. Half of the structure had collapsed, and the rest was riddled with cracks and scorch marks. 

Takashi brought the tank to a halt, the engine growling as it idled. 

"Ready?" he asked. 

Rika smirked, slinging her machine gun over her shoulder. "All or nothing." 

The tank's main cannon fired, the blast shaking the ground as it tore through the remaining gates of the detention center. The reinforced doors crumpled like tin foil, leaving a gaping hole in their wake. 

"Let's move," Takashi said, steering the tank forward. 

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burnt flesh. The halls were littered with bodies—guards, prisoners, monsters—all twisted and broken. Blood pooled in the cracks of the concrete floor, reflecting the flickering light of scattered fires. 

"Stay sharp," Rika said, scanning the shadows. 

From deeper within the facility, a low, guttural growl echoed, sending a chill down their spines. 

The hum of the tank's engine had been their only comfort in the suffocating silence, a steady reminder of something tangible in the midst of chaos. But as they rolled deeper into the crumbling detention center, both Takashi and Rika noticed something unsettling—the world around them had gone eerily quiet. 

"No guards," Rika muttered, her voice barely audible in the stillness. Her eyes darted across the abandoned halls through the cracked periscope. "Not a single one." 

Takashi frowned, his hands tightening on the controls. "This place was supposed to be crawling with them. Even if they were overrun by monsters, there should've been bodies. Blood. Something." 

But there was nothing. No signs of battle, no debris from the destruction they'd witnessed outside. Only silence, oppressive and unnatural. 

The further they advanced, the worse it got. Even the distant cacophony of Tokyo's apocalypse—the screams, the howls of monsters, the explosions—faded into nothingness. The tank's treads rolled noiselessly over the concrete, their movement feeling more surreal with each passing second. 

Rika's grip tightened on the machine gun mounted in front of her. "Something's not right, Takashi. It's like we've crossed into…" She hesitated. "…another place." 

Takashi glanced at the control panel, his face set in a grim line. "It's Shoko. His illusions. Stay focused." 

Rika's lips pressed into a thin line as she reached for a switch near her seat. The tank was equipped with a countermeasure they'd painstakingly designed: a frequency emitter built to blast through psychic interference. Every thirty seconds, it sent out a pulse—a sharp sound wave calibrated to disrupt the kind of mental manipulation Shoko uses. 

She flipped the switch, and the machine whirred to life. A faint, rhythmic beep echoed through the cabin, its presence a small reassurance. 

"It's working fine," Takashi muttered, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "We're still in control." 

But then the tank stopped. 

It didn't lurch or grind to a halt—it simply ceased to exist. 

Rika blinked, her hand instinctively gripping for the mounted machine gun. But when her fingers reached for it, they grasped only air. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked down—there was no machine gun. No tank. No controls. 

They weren't even in the vehicle anymore. 

"Takashi," she whispered, her breath shaky. She turned to her side, expecting to see him there. But her seat was empty. The monitors, the equipment, the confined metal walls of the tank—all of it was gone. 

Rika froze. She was standing alone in the middle of the detention center, her boots echoing softly against the pristine, polished floor. Her pulse quickened as her eyes scanned the space. 

The detention center was no longer the ruin they'd entered. The shattered walls were repaired, the scorch marks gone. The air smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals, sterile and sharp. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting the corridors in stark white. 

Rika took a deep breath, steadying herself. "This isn't real," she muttered under her breath. "It's Shoko." 

Her eyes locked onto something at the end of the corridor. 

A door. 

It didn't match the sterile, institutional design of the detention center. It was simple, out of place—a plain wooden door, the kind you'd find in a suburban home. Its dark varnish gleamed faintly under the artificial light, and a brass handle glinted invitingly. 

Etched into the wood, right above the handle, was a single number: 1 

Rika's instincts screamed at her to stay away. Every fiber of her being told her it was a trap, that opening the door meant stepping further into Shoko's game. But she knew she didn't have a choice. 

She tightened her grip on her pistol, raising it to eye level as she approached the door. Her boots felt heavier with each step, the sound of her footfalls strangely muted. She paused in front of the door, staring at the number. 

"What is this?" she whispered to herself. 

The brass handle seemed to gleam brighter as though inviting her to turn it. She swallowed hard, her finger resting on the trigger of her pistol. 

"Whatever your game is, Shoko," she said aloud, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest, "I'll play it. And you'll lose." 

Taking a deep breath, Rika reached for the handle and twisted it. 

The door creaked open. 

And beyond it, the madness truly began. 

Author Note: More chapters on [email protected]/LordCampione.[ *Special offer going on right now 50% 0ff till December 28* ]