That stellar solitude was abruptly interrupted by a scream that tore through the silence:

  —Little faggot! Seen them yet? All my broken toys. Want to be part of my collection?

  The voice came from that grotesque lair I had left behind. I felt panic paralyze me for a second, wondering how I hadn't noticed him before. Had he been playing with me all this time? I jumped up quickly, not even thinking about the mask. It didn't matter anymore. I dropped my backpack and, pistol in hand, ran through the corridors. A mixture of visceral fear and a primitive elation fueled my steps.

  I rushed into a shared office space, taking refuge under a desk, waiting with my heart pounding so hard it seemed to be shouting my position. Outside, slow, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.

  —Ha, ha! Little faggot! Come out of there!—the voice shouted, mocking, cruel—. You're nothing but an animal trapped in its own reflection… Let me show you the true face you wear beneath your skin.

  The door opened slowly, and I felt my chest tighten. The tension was unbearable. Suddenly, the monster started shooting. Bullets slammed violently against walls and furniture, creating a deafening echo that rang in my ears. The gun trembled in my sweaty hands, loaded, ready to use, but indecision paralyzed my muscles.

  He advanced slowly, taunting with sharp, contemptuous words, firing blindly around the room.

  —Think it matters who wins this? We're dust, asshole. Dust lit by dead gods, spinning pointlessly until we hit the ground —he continued bellowing, as his shots came dangerously close.

  My heart pounded as if trying to escape my chest, to abandon me there, under the desk, to flee far from this nightmare. The footsteps were getting closer. His voice, muffled and distorted by the gas mask, grew clearer with each passing second.

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  A burst of bullets hit the ceiling, unleashing a shower of white dust that covered everything. The air filled with particles that swirled slowly in the gloom.

  —It's now or never —I told myself, taking a breath.

  I peeked out decisively and, through that opaque cloud, saw him clearly for the first time. My heart stopped for an instant, but I reacted almost instinctively. I frantically squeezed the trigger, feeling the force of each shot push me back. I fired non-stop, until the monster finally fell to the ground, defeated. His weapon slid away from him as his body fell heavily.

  I approached, trembling, panting, as he lay beaten. His chest was soaked in blood, and he slowly managed to remove the gas mask. Then I saw his face: burned, disfigured, impossibly still alive. He had a deep wound just below his chin, from which blood flowed profusely.

  He brought a trembling hand to the wound and looked directly into my eyes. There was no hatred in his gaze, but something that resembled a strange, macabre joke. He began to laugh between gurgles of blood, and with superhuman effort, managed to say with difficulty:

  —In the end, we're all… offerings… on an empty altar. Free… me… fr…ee me.

  The laughter mixed with blood continued, terrifying, pathetic. I looked at the pistol indecisively, felt a lump in my throat, backed away, and quickly moved away from the macabre scene. Behind me, I heard a wet whisper, a final sound choked in blood.

  I went back to retrieve my backpack, abandoned in the previous desperation. I checked the pistol instinctively. The magazine was almost empty, only a couple of bullets left. I headed towards the building's storage area. I desperately needed a gas mask, but I flatly refused to go back for the monster's. Not out of fear anymore, but out of a deep, visceral disgust that had settled in me forever.