The room was too bright.
Too loud.
Too alive.
Voices overlapped.
Machines beeped.
Hands pressed against his chest, his arms, his shoulders—trying to hold him in place.
"Stay with us!"
"I need a pulse—"
"He's back—he's back!"
Kenji wasn't listening.
Couldn't.
Because something inside him… was.
The echo pulsed again.
Not violent this time.
Hungry.
His fingers twitched.
A nurse grabbed his wrist.
"Easy—just breathe—"
Her voice cut off.
Not because she stopped—
Because the sound bent.
Kenji heard it.
The exact moment it happened.
Like reality itself skipped.
The air tightened.
A low hum filled the room.
Not from the machines.
From him.
The nurse froze, eyes wide.
"D-do you feel that?"
He did.
More than that—
He understood it.
The echo wasn't just inside him anymore.
It was reaching.
His hand lifted slightly.
Not forced.
Instinct.
The IV line beside him shuddered—then bent—and snapped.
The monitor glitched.
Numbers spiking. Dropping. Repeating.
"Step back!" a doctor shouted.
Too late.
The lights burst.
Glass shattered.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Screams. Movement. Chaos.
But at the center—
Kenji sat up.
Perfectly still.
Breathing.
Calm.
Too calm.
The echo surged.
And for a split second—
everything stopped.
Time.
Sound.
Motion.
Frozen.
The nurse—mid-step.
The doctor—mid-shout.
Shards of glass—suspended in air.
And Kenji—
moving.
Slowly.
He looked around.
Not confused.
Not afraid.
Aware.
"…so this is what you do," he murmured.
The echo responded.
Not in words—
in pressure.
Like something behind his eyes was smiling.
Then—
time snapped back.
Everything crashed forward at once.
Glass hitting the floor.
Bodies stumbling.
The nurse fell hard—
her arm twisting wrong as she hit.
A sharp cry.
Pain.
Then silence.
Everyone stared at him.
Not like a patient.
Like something else.
Kenji looked at the nurse.
At her arm.
Bent.
Wrong.
His expression didn't change—
but something inside him tightened.
"…I didn't mean to do that."
The doctor stepped back.
Slow.
Careful.
Like approaching something dangerous.
"You need to stay still," he said.
His voice shook.
That was new.
Fear.
Directed at him.
The echo pulsed again.
Stronger.
Encouraging.
Break more.
Kenji flinched.
Hard.
"No."
The word came sharp.
Final.
The room fell silent.
The echo pulled back slightly.
Not gone.
Watching.
Testing.
Kenji swung his legs off the bed and stood.
Unsteady—
but standing.
"I'm leaving."
"No, you can't—" the doctor started.
Kenji looked at him.
Just looked.
The words died.
Not from force—
from instinct.
Don't.
Kenji walked toward the door.
Slow.
Measured.
Each step heavy.
The world outside felt different.
Waiting.
At the door, he paused.
Just for a second.
"…I'm not going to hurt anyone."
Not a promise.
Not entirely.
Just something he wanted to believe.
Then he stepped out.
Into the hallway.
Into the world.
Behind him—
the monitor flatlined again.