The small television screen flickered with images of body bags being loaded into emergency vehicles. A reporter's voice cut through the static: "—confirmed dismemberments at what authorities are calling an unexplained incident. Forensic teams continue searching for missing limbs and—" The camera panned across stitched remains, human pieces that didn't belong to any single body, sewn together like grotesque dolls — dozens of them.
Ben sprawled across the narrow sofa, a bag of chips balanced on his chest, discarded wrappers scattered around him like autumn leaves. His eyes tracked the screen with casual interest, more focused on the mystery than the mortality.
Across from him, Gwen, his cousin, sat rigid on the sofa, spine straight, knees together. Her controlled posture betrayed someone holding back judgment as she watched Ben's reaction to the carnage. The road noise outside mixed with the television audio, creating an intimate cocoon of tension in the cramped Rust Bucket interior — their motor home.
"—families still waiting for answers as investigators struggle to explain the unusual blood marking patterns and the complete absence of blood in the bodies—"
Ben's hand moved lazily toward the remote. The reporter's voice continued describing the horror: children's remains mixed with adult body parts, no discernible pattern to the dismemberment, and some pieces never found.
The display switched to interviews — distraught family members, their faces contorted with anguish as they begged for information about their dismembered loved ones, human faces twisted with grief over pieces of people they'd never get to bury whole.
Ben finally said, "They're a news channel, not some reality TV show with forced drama."
Without hesitation, he pressed a button. The channel switched. Ben crunched another chip, completely unbothered by the transition from human horror to commercial advertisement.
Gwen's rigid posture tightened. Her breathing became more controlled, deliberate. She watched Ben's casual dismissal with growing recognition — this wasn't boredom. He was actively avoiding the human cost.
Ben continued eating, changing the subject as if it was irrelevant in the first place. "Watching TV isn't the worst way to pass time, but smartphones have surpassed it nowadays," he said, turning off the TV.
I don't want to get into a bad mood, he thought to himself. It won't help anything to worry about strangers. What's the point?
Gwen's controlled breathing failed her. The fury erupted: "Can you even look at yourself? Do you think that no one but you matters?!"
"So, what should I do? Get depressed on command?" He looked at her lazily. "Or maybe you should cry to show me the example of how it will help."
"This is not what I meant! It's called having a heart, Ben. You should try it sometime!"
"Look, it's terrible, okay? I hope they catch the psycho, but that's all. None of my friends, family, or acquaintances were killed, and the same for you… And what am I supposed to do, Gwen? Send them flowers? These people are dead — me feeling bad won't change that." He exhaled. "And be honest, you don't care. You just want an excuse to feel superior as usual. We're both 18 now; it gets old."
Gwen's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?! You're just being selfish and self-centered."
The words cut through the road noise like a blade. No build-up, no progressive criticism — straight to personal attack. Gwen looked down at him with undisguised disgust.
Ben shrugged, remaining silent. Her anger flowed over him without affecting him.
But two words lingered: Self-centered.
As if he had a center. As if he had something to be selfish about.
He frowned. Ben's hand stilled on the chip bag.
Gwen smiled in satisfaction, believing that she had at last convinced him to see the error of his thinking.
In the silence that followed, he found himself thinking about his life in retrospect — similar to the summer stretching ahead, static, aimless drift from one day to the next, the complete absence of anything that felt like purpose or direction.
Self-centered assumed he had goals worth protecting, dreams worth pursuing, something worth organizing his life around. But life was waiting for an answer from him that he didn't have.
The discomfort pressed against him like the cramped walls of the Rust Bucket. He needed space. Air. Distance from this strange feeling of emptiness.
The vehicle's engine sound changed, decelerating. Evening light filtered through the windows as they rolled to a stop — perfect timing.
"We've reached our destination," Max called from the driver's seat, standing as he turned around. Looking at Ben, he paused expectantly.
"Of course, I'll clean up after myself, Grandpa Max," Ben answered the unspoken request, sitting up and brushing chip crumbs from his green and black shirt. But the words felt automatic, his mind still trapped in that moment of recognition.
His grandfather nodded.
"That's fine, Ben. Just remember — it's easier to avoid making a mess than cleaning one up." He exited the Rust Bucket. "You never know what kind of regret it could bring if you can't undo it."
Ben blinked as he watched him leave.
Melodramatic as always.
Ben rolled his eyes. He needed to get away from Gwen's judgmental stare, away from the suffocating routine. After cleaning up, Ben headed for the door, nearly storming off.
He stepped outside into the evening air. They had parked in a campsite; the forest stretched ahead.
Hours passed as Ben walked through the forest in deep thought, the weight of Gwen's words driving him further from the campsite. His lack of center gnawed at him, creating a desperate hunger for something — anything — that might give his life meaning.
When he finally returned to the Rust Bucket, that hunger had crystallized into purpose. He would find Max, understand how he had found direction in life. An elderly person in his sixties should have the required wisdom.
He opened the door, looking inside. No one was there. He was about to look for his grandfather but stopped.
Doesn't he have some kind of logbook where he notes down his reflections and discoveries?
Ben stepped inside, forgetting to close the door behind him. Just a quick look, nobody will notice.
After searching through his grandfather's belongings for several minutes, he finally found the logbook. He opened it at a random page.
"Adding cheese to roasted frog legs actually is a good idea…" Ben blinked. "Wait, what?"
It turned out to be a book with reflections and discoveries… but just about food. Max loved to cook any unconventional food from every culture.
Ben slapped his palm against his forehead as he put the book back in the cabinet.
I'm overthinking this. I'll figure it out with time as usual.
Yet, as he put the book back, he accidentally knocked over a small metallic sphere. When it hit the ground, the sphere opened, letting out a low red light from inside.
Phew. Nothing is broken.
He picked it up in relief, but slowly leaned closer. Inside was a watch-like device in black, dark grey, and emitting a low red light.
He picked it up, examining it. What is it? Grandpa wouldn't keep a toy. It might have sentimental value. I need to be quick so he doesn't notice anything.
As he was about to put it back in the sphere, the watch suddenly made a small jump, releasing itself from his right hand to attach to his left wrist.
The f—
Ben's eyes widened as he extended his right hand to remove it, yet after forceful pulling, it didn't budge. Worse, it seemed attached to his skin and maybe to the bone and beyond.
Ben shook his head.
Don't be stupid, I would feel the pain if that were the case. Well, it's attached to me, so there should be a way to remove it. Turning his wrist, Ben saw nothing — it was as if the device was welded to fit his wrist perfectly.
The only button was at the base, a red button. Ben pressed it; nothing happened. Ben tried to push, pull, and turn the dial, but nothing happened.
At this point, only Grandpa can remove it. If I try anything, I might break it… Next time, I'm never listening to Gwen again.
He slumped onto the sofa.
At least getting on Grandpa's bad side from the very first day of summer is unexpected. Hopefully, he will kick me out. I can't stand Gwen.
He raised his left wrist, looking deeply at the watch.
It doesn't give time. It doesn't do anything. What is it?
By pure coincidence, the low red light of the watch suddenly became a green light.
He stood up.
His heartbeat quickened. With trembling hands, he reached for the button, now green instead of red. Suddenly the dial lifted up. At the same time, Ben jerked his head away in fear, startled by the sudden movement. After a moment, he cautiously turned back to stare at the device.
A shadowed figure?
Blinking, he turned the dial. More silhouettes were shown, some human-like, some animal-like. He stopped after making a full turn of 10 figures, stopping at one humanoid-looking figure with strange pointy hair.
But why? Anyway, the watch is already on me, no need to worsen the situation by making it clear that I used it.
Since clicking on the button did nothing, he simply pressed the dial hoping to push it back.
Now, nothing can get worse—
At that moment, a flash of green light emanated from the watch and engulfed him.