In the bustling red-light district, the pulsating beat of electronic music merges with the clinking of glasses, illuminated by the flickering neon lights that stir excitement among the revelers. Yes - the night is only just beginning.
Drunken men stagger down the sidewalks, their steps unsteady; women in short skirts and crimson lips clutch their phones, capturing selfies from every angle. No one pays heed to anyone else, each absorbed in their own world. Even acquaintances pass one another without so much as a nod, their bonds fading into oblivion. Groups of close friends gather around dining tables, snapping photos of their meals and posting them online with religious fervor, only to retreat into their private bubbles - each engrossed in their own plate, lost in their own indulgence.
Outside, a gaunt beggar curls into himself, nestled in the damp, filthy corner of an alley, his presence unnoticed. His battered tin cup, the last hope for a meal, is inadvertently knocked aside by towering high heels that stomp past without care, sending it rolling into the darkness. Before he can utter a word of protest, a torrent of insults from nearby streetwalkers rains down upon him like a storm, their voices sharp and unforgiving.
In the shadowed recess of the nightclub, a distinguished man in a gray suit swirls a glass of red wine, exchanging flirtations with the young women draped over his arms. His gaze flickers between them with practiced ease, weaving through the momentary pleasures of the present. He is a regular here. Despite having a wife and children, the club is his second home, a refuge from responsibility.
He retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket, only to find a string of messages from his wife, eagerly awaiting his return. He frowns, mutters a string of curses, then types out a curt reply before carelessly tossing the phone aside. Unconcerned, he downs one drink after another, sinking deeper into inebriation until the world around him blurs into insignificance. The incessant chime of incoming messages echoes from his phone, grating against his nerves. He groans in frustration, fumbling blindly across the seat in search of the device.
"Damn it!" He mumbles, squinting through his intoxication. "Doesn't she have anything better to do than ruin my night? Huh? What’s this?"
On the screen, a black envelope flickers into view - an invitation from Bus 0. He continues scrolling, barely coherent, until he reaches the confirmation button. He sneers, scoffing aloud,
"Another ridiculous ad? Where the hell is the close button?"
In his drunken haze, his finger carelessly taps the confirmation button, and the screen returns to normal. He belches, tosses his phone aside, and drains the beer bottle before him. But he is blissfully unaware that someone has been watching him all along - a shadowy figure lingering in the crowd, observing with a sly smirk before vanishing into the bustling night.
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit house tucked away in the corner of the street, a loud clatter echoes through the darkness. A woman, her hair in disarray, hurriedly throws on a coat and rushes down the stairs. She makes her way to the kitchen and flicks on all the lights. As the glow illuminates the space, she spots her daughter standing frozen before the open refrigerator.
With a weary sigh, she puts her hands on her hips. "Pearl, what on earth are you making a racket for at this hour?"
The girl named Pearl stands amid shattered fragments, visibly flustered, watching as her mother retrieves a broom. Lowering her head, she murmurs hesitantly:
"I am… just hungry and want a piece of cake. But when I reach for it, I don’t notice the plate underneath, and it slips from my hands."
Her mother’s fingers tighten around the broom handle, veins bulging as if she is on the verge of snapping it in half. A prickling sense of unease creeps into Pearl’s chest. Instinctively, she takes small steps backward, hoping to retreat unnoticed. Yet, her movements do not escape her mother’s sharp gaze.
"Don’t move!" Her mother snaps. "Do you want to lose a leg on top of everything else?"
Startled, Pearl freezes in place, bracing herself for whatever is to come. With angry swipes, she sweeps away the shards at her daughter’s feet before barking another order.
"You are seventeen years old and still incapable of doing anything right," her mother mutters, her tone thick with irritation. “Your father spends his days drowning in alcohol. When will the two of you finally let me have some peace? Stop coming into the kitchen! Every time you do, something gets ruined. That’s enough - go to bed! You are driving me mad!”
Pearl forces a nervous smile and tiptoes along the edge of the wall, swiftly darting up the stairs. Once inside her room, she locks the door, collapses onto her bed, and exhales heavily.
But her brief respite is interrupted by the chime of a notification. She stretches an arm toward her phone and flips it open. It is a message from her best friend, Trevor. She never understands how two people with completely different personalities remain friends for eight years. Trevor is, at best, a charming flirt - everything else about him is utterly exasperating. He always uses her as a shield to avoid trouble and asks the most ridiculous questions. Annoyed, she answers sharply.
"What do you want?"
"My dear friend!"
The exaggerated tone makes Pearl’s expression darken. She deadpans, "I am hanging up."
"Wait, wait! Don’t be mad!" Trevor hurriedly pleads before lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Listen, I signed up for Death Bus No. 0. And your crush also joins this."
Pearl’s eyes widen in shock. She shoots upright, her pulse racing as disbelief washes over her.
"What do you just say? Is it real?"
"Yep, I see his registration go through. If you want to go, I can send you the sign-up form."
"Send it to me. Love you so much, bestie!"
“So cheesy!”
She hangs up the phone. Her hands trembling with excitement, and entire body tingling at the thought of finally seeing the person she admires. A few minutes later, a notification chimes - a registration form arrives in her inbox. She clicks on the link. A black letter appears, bearing the emblem of Bus 0 in the upper left corner. Pearl has heard the legends surrounding the bus before, and she desperately wants to experience it. As she begins filling out her name, she suddenly freezes. She completely forgets - her parents would never allow her to participate. They used to give her a warning about it. A pang of frustration weighs on her, a headache forming as she hesitates, unsure of how to proceed. She stops filling in the form and skims through its contents. Then, her eyes catch something near the bottom:
"If you require assistance to participate, fill in the box below, and we will help you."
ns216.73.216.190da2
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