章 183: Chapter 183
Dudumoybu wasn't like other people. He didn't care. He didn't care about rules, names, people, or even his own existence. He lived in a world that made no sense to him, and that was fine. He wasn't one to overthink. His memory was a sieve; everything dripped through, leaking out the edges of his skull. But that didn't bother him, not in the slightest. After all, he couldn't remember who he was supposed to be angry at anyway, or why he cared. The only thing he did care about was making things worse.
He liked the sound of people's voices, the way they stammered when they got angry or scared. Dudumoybu loved it. His favorite part was when they realized they were stuck. They couldn't get out, couldn't win, couldn't undo what he'd done. He never cared much about how he got there, as long as it was fun.
And the fun started whenever he couldn't remember names. The way people tried to remind him of them, their frustration growing with every failed attempt. They could tell him their name a thousand times, and he would still forget. Every time. And he would smile at their anger, at the way they thrashed around, trying to get through to him.
Once, there had been a man who'd tried to tell Dudumoybu his own name. Dudumoybu had laughed at him, pretending he didn't understand. The man had yelled for hours, pleading, trying to convince Dudumoybu that he had to listen. But Dudumoybu didn't need to listen. The man's words meant nothing. So Dudumoybu had killed him, just like he always did. It didn't matter who they were or what they wanted. Nothing ever mattered to Dudumoybu.
The night he met his last victim was no different. It was raining. Not a heavy rain, just enough to make the streets wet and the air feel damp. He was walking down an empty street, enjoying the solitude. The occasional car would pass, the sound of tires slicing through water, but for the most part, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that made you think too much if you let yourself.
Then he saw her.
She was standing in front of a small convenience store, looking lost. She was fumbling with her phone, probably trying to get directions or call someone. Dudumoybu wasn't sure. He didn't care. What mattered was that she was there. The woman was just another mark, another target, another victim to piss off, just like all the others. She was alone, which made things easier. He could play with her, twist her mind until she cracked.
Dudumoybu approached slowly, pretending to be a passerby. He didn't want to seem too eager. He waited for her to notice him. When she did, she gave him a small smile, the kind of smile people give when they aren't sure if they should smile. Dudumoybu hated that smile. It wasn't genuine. It was forced.
"Hey," he said, his voice flat.
She looked at him for a moment, then glanced back at her phone. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice unsure. Her eyes didn't meet his.
"Do you need directions?" Dudumoybu asked. He was hoping she'd say something dumb, like they all did.
"No," she replied, still looking at her phone. "Just trying to get home."
"Well," Dudumoybu said, walking closer, "I could help with that."
She looked up at him, her expression still neutral. "You seem lost yourself," she said.
He didn't like that either. He didn't like the way she was so calm, so composed. She wasn't scared. She didn't even seem like she cared that a stranger was talking to her in the middle of nowhere, on a quiet street in the dead of night.
He took another step toward her. "What's your name?"
She frowned, her brow furrowing. "It's Claire."
Dudumoybu smirked. "Claire. That's nice. My name is… well, I don't remember. I forget a lot of things."
She looked at him, not sure if he was joking or being serious. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, the split-second of uncertainty. She didn't know whether she should laugh, run, or just ignore him. But Claire didn't run, and she didn't laugh.
"So, what do you want?" Claire asked, her voice now more wary.
"I just wanted to ask you something. Do you ever wonder why you're alive?"
She blinked, taken aback. "What?"
Dudumoybu's grin widened. "You heard me. Do you ever wonder why you're here? What it all means?"
Claire shook her head, clearly uncomfortable. "No. I'm just trying to get home."
"Trying to get home," he repeated. He liked the way she said it. It was so simple. So hopeful. "Well, you won't make it home tonight."
The words didn't seem to register at first, and Dudumoybu could see her start to laugh nervously. She was probably thinking he was joking, messing with her. But he wasn't joking. He wasn't messing around.
Before she could react, Dudumoybu grabbed her wrist. She tried to pull away, but it was too late. Her face changed from amusement to confusion and then to fear.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"I'm not doing anything," Dudumoybu replied, smiling as her resistance began to fade. "I'm just… reminding you."
"Reminding me what?"
"Reminding you that everything ends. People forget. You forget. I forget. But nothing really matters in the end. Not the names. Not the faces. Not the things we do." He tightened his grip on her wrist. She winced, but didn't scream.
"Please," she said, her voice trembling now. "Let me go."
"I could," Dudumoybu said. "But what fun would that be?"
He threw her against the convenience store window. It shattered. Glass sprayed everywhere. But Claire didn't scream. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her face was frozen in shock, like she couldn't believe it was happening. She didn't even look at the cuts that lined her arms and face, the blood trickling down from where the glass had pierced her skin.
"Why don't you scream?" Dudumoybu asked, crouching down beside her. He tilted his head. "Don't you want to scream?"
Claire didn't answer. She couldn't. Not anymore.
"You could scream for help," Dudumoybu said. "You could yell. But there's no one coming. There's never anyone coming. Not for you. Not for me. We're all alone in this. You, me, the whole damn world. Just pieces of flesh and bone, waiting to be forgotten."
The rain started to fall harder, the drops hitting the ground with an unnatural force, like they were trying to drown the world.
Claire's mouth moved again, but Dudumoybu didn't care. She wasn't worth talking to. She wasn't worth remembering.
He stood up, and without another word, he pulled a blade from his coat. It was a simple thing, cheap and easy to get, but it did the job.
He plunged it into her stomach.
Claire's body jerked, but she couldn't scream. She didn't have the strength.
Dudumoybu watched her, waiting for the last breath. He wanted to see it in her eyes. He wanted to see that moment when she realized what was happening, when she knew there was no way out, no escape.
But it didn't happen like that. Claire didn't fight. She didn't beg. She didn't look at him in horror.
She just… closed her eyes. As if she had already given up.
And in that moment, Dudumoybu realized something.
He didn't matter. None of it mattered. The blood, the violence, the fun—it was all empty. He wasn't just a killer; he was a shell. And for the first time, it was all too much.
He stood there in the rain, staring at her motionless body, and for once, he didn't feel like doing anything. Not even killing.
Dudumoybu's mind began to drift, and he felt a strange pressure in his chest. He reached for his own throat, but there was nothing there. Nothing left. The world around him blurred, fading as the cold seeped into his bones.
In the end, no one remembered his name either.
And Dudumoybu faded, as though he had never existed.
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