After the end of World War II.

As a veteran of World War II, I felt the emptiness of life.

The fact that everything I struggled for to survive on the battlefield could end with a single pull of a trigger.

Why is life so empty? How can the desperate struggles of my comrades, my allies, to stay alive end so hollowly? It was utterly devastating.

After the war ended, I built a cabin in the mountains to live in. It was a bit shabby, but enough for one person. Since everything ends when you die anyway, what meaning is there in being warm and full for a moment?

Knock, knock, knock.

I heard a knocking sound. Sometimes animals would scratch or tap at the door, but this was an artificial knock that no animal could ever make.

I took a pistol out of the drawer and cautiously opened the front door.

Creeak—