Ray

He steps off the train as if attending an execution. The new city is another oven, where everyone slowly roasts in their ambitions. Coffee from a vending machine, cheap shawarma, smoke instead of air.

Ray doesn't believe in love—he believes in survival. He believes in everyone standing in line to be shot, some just crying and others pretending to enjoy themselves.

He rents a room with peeling walls. He lies down without undressing. He closes his eyes—and dies every time. Death comes with your face. Your hands strangle him, your lips kiss him before he falls onto the tatami of his own mind.

He wakes up with the feeling that he has understood the terrible truth. But he steps out onto the platform and forgets. He always forgets.

He says you're an empty shell. That there's nothing inside you except the pretty packaging. But if you disappear, his world will fall apart faster.

You are his addiction. Not love. Worse.

The train is already arriving. He will either leave and burn in another city. Or he will stay - and you will reach a random ending together. And he immediately asks while there is still time: — Did you come to finish off or to stay?