Elliot sat slumped over his cluttered desk, his forehead damp with sweat as a lingering sense of unease gripped him. His eyes flickered open, bloodshot and wide, as the remnants of his nightmare clawed at his consciousness. The dark figures, the suffocating air, the distant screams—it all seemed so real. His breath came in short gasps, chest heaving in panic, and for a moment, the weight of it all made it hard to distinguish reality from the nightmare. Yet, as his gaze swept across the dimly lit office, the hum of the fluorescent lights and the low buzz of his computer pulled him back. He wasn't in that hellish place anymore. He was just in the office, his cubicle, the place where he spent most of his days in a haze of work.
A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was still lunch break. He could hear faint chatter in the breakroom. The second hand of the clock ticked steadily, and as his mind finally settled, the room's familiar sights seemed to calm his racing heart. A sigh of relief escaped him. He was just taking a nap, not lost in some dark realm. Just a nap.
His friend, Marcus, appeared at his side, holding a bottle that at first glance seemed to be filled with a soft drink. But there was something different about it—the way Marcus held it, the playful grin on his face, made it clear it wasn't just another soda.
"Care for a drink? It's a little... special," Marcus teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. He popped the cap with a dramatic flair and handed it over. Without hesitation, Elliot took it, not wanting to seem rude.
It wasn't the first time Marcus had brought something a little out of the ordinary. As they both took their first sip, the rich, biting taste of alcohol replaced the sweetness of what had appeared to be a regular soda. The warmth of it slid down his throat, adding a strange contrast to the lingering unease from his dream. The alcohol's burn, though strong, was oddly comforting, like a small rebellion against the mundane office routine.
As the two friends chatted idly, the light buzz from the alcohol creeping up on them, Elliot's phone vibrated on the desk. The screen lit up, displaying a strange app he didn't recognize. "Welcome to Hell" was emblazoned in ominous red lettering. Elliot's heart skipped a beat. His fingers hovered over the phone, the sight of the app making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and a hint of fear. Marcus leaned in, clearly excited.
"Oh, that's my latest find," he replied with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's a new app I installed. Think of it like a... marketplace. You can get anything from hard drugs, escorts, weapons, and even alcohol in disguise. Whatever your darkest desires are, you can find them here."
Elliot's face paled. Something about the app unsettled him on a deep level, the implications of what Marcus said taking root in his mind. His finger hovered over the screen, an inexplicable pull to tap it. But as he did, the flashes of his nightmare returned—flickering images of the dark, twisted shapes from his dream, the cold, empty screams, the overwhelming fear. His breath caught in his throat.
A voice in his mind screamed at him to stop, but he ignored it, pretending nothing had happened.
"Are you seriously gonna open it?" Marcus prodded, his voice full of anticipation.
Elliot hesitated. The pull of curiosity was strong, but the fear from his nightmare was stronger. He withdrew his finger. No. He couldn't do it. Not after what he'd just felt. There was something deeply wrong with the idea of an app that could offer such horrors. He tried to dismiss it, but his mind couldn't quiet the storm of thoughts swirling in his head.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of indecision, he pushed the phone aside and let the moment pass. He'd gotten enough of a taste for the bizarre, the unsettling. His mind was no longer in a place for further exploration.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of unease and tension. Elliot couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, something much bigger than the bizarre app. His stomach churned, and the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it got. He couldn't focus, couldn't find the energy to finish the tasks on his desk.
He finally made a decision. An early leave. He grabbed his things, leaving without a word, the oppressive feeling gnawing at his insides. The weight of the app's existence lingered, as though the world had shifted and was now just a little darker than before.
Elliot walked down the quiet street, his footsteps quick and purposeful, his mind still heavy with the unsettling events of the day. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the pavement, but the daylight did nothing to soothe the unease that clung to him. The feeling of dread wasn't leaving, no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.
As he continued down the street, a sudden, sharp noise pierced the air. The rapid thumping of running feet, the desperate panting of someone trying to outrun something—or someone. His eyes darted instinctively toward the sound. A man, ragged and wild-eyed, was sprinting down the sidewalk, glancing behind him in fear. Police officers chased after him, their voices shouting commands that fell on deaf ears. The man's desperation was palpable. His heart raced at the sight, but before Elliot could process it fully, his body moved.
Without thinking, Elliot stepped forward, almost instinctively, and swung his bag in a brutal arc. The force of it collided with the man's face with a sickening thud. The impact was jarring, the weight of the blow unexpected, and it sent the man crashing to the ground, his body limp and lifeless.
A heavy silence followed. Elliot froze, staring at the man's unmoving form. His breath caught in his throat, his hands trembling as he stood there, his mind unable to comprehend what he had just done. The police, who had been close behind, reached him almost immediately. They assessed the situation quickly, then turned to Elliot. The leader of the officers looked at him with a mix of confusion and understanding.
"Hey, hey, it's alright," the officer said, placing a firm hand on Elliot's shoulder. "It was an accident. You didn't mean to do that."
But as Elliot's mind scrambled to make sense of the scene, he noticed something strange. The man had been clutching a bag tightly to his chest, a small, innocuous-looking bundle, but upon closer inspection, Elliot saw the unmistakable white powder spilling from it. Cocaine. His stomach dropped, and a sickening realization hit him. The man wasn't running just out of fear. He had been running from the police because he was carrying something illegal, something dangerous.
The officer noticed Elliot's gaze and nodded knowingly. "He was carrying a stash, alright. That's why he was running." The officer's voice was calm, but Elliot could see the dark undertone of the situation. "It's unfortunate, but the hit wasn't intentional. He was a criminal, and you were just trying to help."
Elliot's heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He hadn't meant to kill the man. It had all happened too fast. But there was a strange, twisted part of him that felt... relieved? That the chaos had somehow given him an outlet, something to release the pressure that had been building inside him for so long.
Without much more being said, the police took his statement at the station. They seemed almost lenient, almost sympathetic, as if they understood that it wasn't entirely Elliot's fault. They comforted him, assuring him it was an accident. After what felt like an eternity, they let him go, free to leave the station without further consequences.
The air outside was sharp, the coolness of evening biting into his skin. But Elliot didn't feel any relief. His thoughts were heavy, dark, swirling in confusion and guilt. The man he had killed had been a criminal, true, but that didn't change the fact that he had taken a life. As he made his way home, the burden seemed to grow heavier with every step.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed again. The screen lit up with the app—Welcome to Hell—and another notification. His heart sank as he read the message.
"The person who died because of you was not an accident. You had a murderous intent behind your act."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. It was like the app knew something he didn't want to admit to himself. His hands shook as he stared at the screen. Could this be real? Could the app have some twisted connection to his actions? He had acted so impulsively, driven by something he didn't understand, something dark within him that he couldn't ignore.
His thoughts began to spiral out of control. Was he truly capable of murder? Had he simply taken the opportunity when it presented itself, like the app suggested? He had always prided himself on being in control, but now... now it felt like something had snapped inside him.
His pace quickened. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly driven to get home faster, to do something, anything, to escape the overwhelming dread. And then, in an act of desperation, his hand reached into his pocket and pulled out the small bag of cocaine he had taken from the scene. Without a second thought, he pulled out a small dose and took it, feeling the cold rush of the drug flood his senses almost immediately.
The instant the high hit him, his phone buzzed again. He looked at the screen, but the words seemed to blur as the drug took hold. The message was chilling.
"That will only increase your sins."
Elliot staggered, his mind unraveling. Was he hallucinating? Or was this all real? His head spun, and the lines between reality and something far darker seemed to blur. His own thoughts haunted him, accusing him, telling him that he wasn't who he thought he was, that the darkness within him was always there, just waiting for a chance to emerge.
Everything felt wrong. His chest tightened, his breath shallow, and he couldn't tell if it was the drug, the app, or his own mind betraying him. But the app—somehow—seemed to know him better than he knew himself.
Elliot's hands trembled as he fumbled with his phone, the notifications from the app continuing to pull at him with an unnerving force. The urge to tap it, to open it, was growing stronger with each passing moment, the pull of the dark and twisted app seeming to feed off the sins he was racking up. It was like an addiction he couldn't escape, the app becoming a constant, ominous companion in the back of his mind, urging him deeper into something he couldn't quite comprehend.
As he reached home, the familiar scent of his kitchen hit him. But today, it was different. The air felt thick, heavy, as if the space itself was alive, suffocating him with its presence. The fridge door creaked as he opened it, revealing the frozen meat inside. He didn't remember buying it, but it was there. The pieces looked strange, though, one in particular standing out. It wasn't like the others—it looked... wrong. A human-like hand, frozen stiff, the fingers contorted in a grotesque, unnatural position. Elliot blinked, trying to make sense of it, his mind clouded by the cocaine still coursing through his veins.
He didn't question it. The thoughts of his nightmare, the urges within him, were too strong to ignore now. He pulled the frozen meat from the freezer, the sight of it seeming more and more normal in his altered state. The absurdity of it all faded as his hands, guided by something deeper, something darker within him, began to prepare the meat.
The sizzling sound of the meat frying filled the room, the faint buzz of the cocaine still humming in his veins. As the meat cooked, Elliot's stomach growled, but it wasn't hunger. It was something else, something primal, a craving that gnawed at him from the inside. The app's words echoed in his mind, their weight growing heavier by the second.
He sat down to eat, the flesh in front of him almost hypnotizing, its texture oddly familiar. He didn't think twice as he cut into it, the taste of the meat almost decadent, a strange satisfaction accompanying every bite. It was wrong. It should have been wrong. But Elliot couldn't stop. The more he ate, the more his mind twisted, the boundaries between reality and nightmare crumbling.
Just as he took another bite, his phone buzzed again. The screen lit up, the words from the app sending a chill down his spine.
"Are you still eating your ex?"
His fork froze halfway to his mouth, the bite suspended in midair. His stomach lurched, and his heart skipped a beat. What did that mean? He shook his head, trying to dismiss it, but the feeling of dread was unmistakable.
Then, another notification appeared, more chilling than the last:
"At this moment, you also taste delicious."
Elliot's breath caught in his throat. The words, the app—it was too much. His mind raced, his thoughts spiraling as the implications of the app's messages sank in. Was he eating human flesh? Was this really happening, or was it all some twisted illusion brought on by the drugs, his sins, or even the app itself? The lines blurred, his grip on reality slipping with every passing second.
The hunger inside him, both physical and psychological, grew insatiable. It wasn't just the meat anymore. It was everything—every dark thought, every impulse, every twisted desire that had been building up in him since he'd first opened the app. He felt a sickening satisfaction, a perverse sense of fulfillment, and it only fueled the darkness inside him. The more he gave into it, the harder it became to turn back.
Elliot's thoughts screamed at him, but the app's notifications were louder. His hands were shaking as he picked up the phone once more. Was the app controlling him now? Or was it merely reflecting what was already inside him?
The moment Elliot's trembling finger pressed the app, something unexplainable happened. The phone's screen flickered violently, as if rejecting his touch, before it began to glow an ominous shade of red. The light was intense, casting a crimson hue across everything around him. It wasn't just the phone—the very air seemed to change. The sky turned a deep, unnatural red, the ground beneath him shifting to match, as though the world itself was dissolving into a hellish version of reality.
The transformation wasn't just visual; it was felt in the pit of his stomach, a deep, unsettling force that tugged at him, pulling him toward something he couldn't escape. His feet stumbled, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, the ground seemed to crack and shift beneath him. He collapsed, hitting the floor hard, and when he looked up, a door loomed in front of him. The words on it, glowing with a sickly light, read the same as the app: "Welcome to Hell." The logo from the app was etched into the door, but this time, it wasn't just a symbol—it felt alive, pulsing as though it was aware of him, of his sins, of the dark choices he had made.
Elliot's breath caught in his throat. He reached out a hand to touch the door, but before his fingers could meet the surface, everything around him seemed to pulse. The air thickened, the walls closing in as a figure appeared in front of him. The presence was overwhelming—bright, blinding, and impossibly serene. It was an angel. At least, that's what Elliot thought. Its wings shimmered with a light that could burn, its face radiating wisdom and sadness.
The angel's eyes, deep and ancient, met his, and with a quiet motion, it reached for a large book resting in front of it. The angel's hands were delicate, graceful, as it closed the book with a soft thud. The cover, though simple, seemed to hold an immense weight. Elliot's heart raced, his thoughts spinning. He wanted to speak, to ask what was going on, but no words escaped his lips. It was as though the air itself had stolen his voice.
The angel turned the book slowly, revealing a second one beside it. The contrast between the two books was stark. One was small, with a single page resting within it—The Book of Good Deeds. The other, however, was massive, its pages stretching beyond the angel's wings, growing larger with every second, its weight seeming impossible. The Book of Sins. The vastness of it was staggering. It felt like an endless abyss, a record of every dark action, every choice, every soul lost to temptation. It was far longer than any mortal could imagine, stretching into infinity, the sheer weight of it crushing.
Elliot couldn't tear his eyes away from the two books. His heart pounded in his chest. The Book of Good Deeds, so small, so insignificant in comparison. And The Book of Sins, its weight pulling him down, suffocating him with its enormity. His mind screamed, trying to make sense of it all, but the angel said nothing. Its gaze was gentle, sad, as if it already knew the fate that awaited him.
"Which book is yours?" the angel's voice finally rang out. It was a sound like wind passing through the trees, calm and soft, but it held an undeniable power.
Elliot's eyes flickered between the books. He couldn't answer. His sins—the ones he'd buried deep, the ones he'd ignored, the ones that had festered within him—suddenly felt so real, so tangible. The app, his actions, everything he had done... it was all laid bare before him. The weight of his choices crushed him. He wasn't sure if he could bear it.
The angel's gaze softened as it closed the book of sins, a finality in the motion. But there was no comfort in it, only a sense of resignation.
"Your sins are yours to bear," the angel murmured.
As the words echoed in his ears, the ground trembled beneath him. The door before him creaked open, a blinding red light spilling out from within. Elliot stood frozen, torn between fear and curiosity, between his sins and the unknown of what lay beyond
Elliot didn't have time to react before the black, clawed hands emerged from the gate of hell, dragging him into the fiery abyss. His body jerked violently as the hands wrapped around his arms, pulling him towards the open maw of the gate. He screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the deafening roar of the flames that raged around him. His heart pounded in his chest, and his body thrashed in desperation, but the grip was unyielding.
Before he could even comprehend what was happening, the world shifted again. The ground disappeared beneath him, and his body was suspended in the air, his arms stretched wide. He felt the cold steel of a hook tear through his skin, the jagged metal piercing his back and driving deep into his chest, anchoring him in place. His body jerked, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the sharp pain coursed through him, but there was no escape. The hook held him fast, the agony excruciating, and as he looked around, the reality of his situation became clear.
He was in a place beyond human understanding—an endless, dark chasm where the very air seemed to burn. The light here was a sickly red, casting grotesque shadows that danced around him. The souls of the damned drifted in the air, wailing in torment, their bodies twisted and deformed by the suffering they endured for eternity. But it wasn't just the souls that filled the space—there were others. Twisted, demonic creatures, shadows with eyes full of hunger and malice, lurking just out of reach, waiting for their turn.
And then, the first soul approached.
It was like a shadow, a wisp of smoke, but as it neared, Elliot felt a coldness seep into his bones. The wailing grew louder, piercing his mind as the soul circled around him, its presence suffocating. Slowly, it opened its mouth, revealing jagged teeth that gleamed with an otherworldly hunger. The soul lunged at him, sinking its teeth into his flesh, tearing at him, bit by bit.
The pain was unbearable. Each bite felt like fire, like his very soul was being ripped apart piece by piece. The screams that followed were not just his own, but the screams of every person he had ever harmed, every soul he had devoured in his twisted, murderous desires. The app had led him here, to this place of unimaginable suffering, and now, the consequences of his sins were becoming clear.
As the soul feasted, the flashes began. Vivid, horrific flashes of his past sins—moments of violence, moments of indulgence in the darkness he had allowed to consume him. He saw himself in his mind's eye, standing over the body of the man he had killed, cutting into the flesh, the taste of human meat filling his senses, the power of the act overpowering any shred of humanity he had left.
The more the soul devoured him, the clearer the flashes became. The screams grew louder, the guilt, the anger, the terror—it all came rushing back. Every soul he had consumed, every life he had taken, every moment of darkness he had given in to, was now coming to collect its toll. Each soul that feasted on him now was a reflection of his own actions, a mirror of the choices he had made. And each soul, each twisted, hungry entity, was slowly gnawing away at him.
The cycle was unending.
As one soul finished, another came, its hunger insatiable. The more they ate, the more his body screamed. But it wasn't just physical pain. His mind shattered with the realization that he had crossed a line—he had crossed a threshold from which there was no return. He had opened the gate, and now he was paying the price.
The worst part of it all wasn't the pain, the torment—it was the knowledge that it was his own doing. He had chosen this path. Every step, every decision, had led him here, to this pit of hell, where the souls of the damned feasted on his flesh, just as he had once feasted on the lives of others.
He wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but no sound left his throat. The hook held him in place, a permanent reminder of the price he had paid. And with every bite, with every soul that tore into him, the flashes of his sins grew clearer, the memory of each act of violence more vivid.
He was lost in this endless cycle of suffering, and there was no way out. No redemption, no escape from the hell he had created for himself. The more he suffered, the more he realized—this was the price of his choices. And there would be no forgiveness.
Elliot's body had been broken, his mind shattered by the endless torment he had endured over thousands of years. The pain was unbearable. Venomous snakes had sunk their fangs into his skin, molten glass had consumed him, and he had been subjected to brutal punishments—each one more excruciating than the last. His body had deteriorated, his skin sagging, and his hair had long since fallen out. The weight of his sins had become too much to bear.
And then, through the unbearable suffering, a realization came to him. It was as though a flicker of clarity had pierced through the overwhelming darkness. His heart finally understood. The path he had chosen had been wrong from the beginning. Every decision, every step, had led him to this. He was truly sorry.
The words echoed in his mind, a plea for redemption, a genuine cry for forgiveness. He couldn't undo what he had done, but for the first time, he felt the weight of his mistakes in his very soul.
And then, as if summoned by his own regret, Marcus appeared.
Elliot's heart skipped. The sight of Marcus, healthy and unchanged, standing before him in the midst of all his suffering, was more jarring than anything he had endured so far. It didn't make sense. How could Marcus be so untouched by the horrors of the afterlife?
"Are you really sorry?" Marcus asked, his voice calm, almost amused.
Elliot, weak and broken, nodded with conviction. "Yeah, I am. I know I took the wrong path. If I had a chance, I wouldn't do it again."
Marcus chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling certainty. "A human can't change his nature, no matter what they say. You want everything a sinner wants, don't you? But deep down, you're still the same."
Elliot's heart sank. There was no escaping the truth in Marcus's words. The regret, the pain, the suffering—it was all real. But the reality was that he had always been a sinner, and no amount of suffering could change that.
Desperation washed over him as he begged, "Please, just one last chance. I'll do anything. I know I can change. I promise."
Marcus, his face unreadable, leaned closer. He looked at Elliot for a long moment, and then, with a soft smirk, he spoke a quote that resonated with an eerie weight:
"Every time I say sorry, it means I will not do it again. Yet every time I have to say sorry."
The words struck Elliot like a thunderclap. They were profound, cutting into him, and he realized, deep within himself, what they meant. Even in the act of saying sorry, there is the admission that it will happen again. Humans, as flawed as they are, can never escape their nature. No matter how many apologies they give, they will always fall back into their sins.
And yet, Marcus granted him something more—a chance. "You have one day," Marcus said. "One day to prove that you can change. But if you fail and you return here in a hundred years, I will add another hundred to your sentence."
Elliot, desperate and willing to do anything to escape the hell that had consumed him, agreed instantly. "I won't do it again. I won't."
As Marcus's words faded into the air, Elliot's surroundings began to warp, the flames receding, the endless torment slowly ebbing away. But before he could comprehend what was happening, his body jerked awake. He opened his eyes, gasping for air, his heart pounding.
The room around him was familiar, his desk in front of him, the office lights dim overhead. He was back. He was alive. His body was whole, his skin free of wounds, and the memories of hell felt distant, as though they had been nothing but a nightmare.
He rubbed his eyes, confused. Could it have been a dream? He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. The memories of his torment were slipping away, vanishing like smoke in the wind. He couldn't grasp them, couldn't hold on to the fear, the regret. It was as if the dream had erased everything.
Then, just as the remnants of his nightmare faded, Marcus appeared at his side, holding a bottle of drink in hand.
"You look like you need a drink," Marcus said, handing it over with a grin.
Elliot accepted it without hesitation. He had forgotten. Forgotten the horrors, forgotten the pain. It all felt distant now, like a fleeting memory that no longer mattered. He took a long sip from the bottle, the taste familiar, soothing.
Everything was repeating. Every second, every detail—it was all the same. But as he continued to drink, his thoughts grew hazy. The weight of his past sins, the promises, the suffering—it was all fading. The world around him blurred, the app's notification buzzing once more on his phone: "Welcome to Hell."
The cycle had begun again.
—--------------------------------
A figure appeared —Marcus, the warden, the eternal judge of souls.
"You think this is all real, don't you?" Marcus said, his voice a mixture of mockery and dark amusement. "You think that this is your one shot, your chance to escape. But the truth is much simpler. You're living in a prison of your own making. A hell that has no end. You never left. You never will."
Marcus leaned closer, his eyes gleaming as if he enjoyed watching Elliot squirm. "Every thousand years, you get one day. One day to prove you can change. But guess what? It doesn't matter. It never matters."
He glanced around, as though savoring the despair in the air. "I've been here long enough to see the truth. You think you're different, that you're somehow the exception. But you're just another soul in a long line of failed tests. And when you think you've learned—when you think you've earned your way out—you'll fall right back here."
Marcus smiled, not with warmth but with a sense of satisfaction, as though he were watching a never-ending drama unfold. "You know, I've seen it all before. You'll keep repeating your mistakes. You'll keep stumbling into the same traps. And when you say sorry—when you apologize, as if that's enough—you're just setting yourself up for the same pain again. This cycle... it's all you'll ever know."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in, before turning to address something else. "You, the one reading this, think you're outside it, don't you? You think you're not part of this game. But you are. You always have been. This world? It's not real. The people around you? They're not real. They're just part of the test. Every action you take, every thought you have, is part of the cycle. And just like Elliot, you're playing your part—whether you know it or not."
Marcus's voice lowered, a dangerous whisper in the air. "What if this is the hell? What if every time you try to redeem yourself, every time you try to change, it's just a fleeting illusion? And what if the people around you are just players in your test, your own little game of torment? What if they aren't real? Just like Elliot, caught in the same endless loop... just like you will be."
He stepped back, eyes burning with cruel amusement. "You think you have control. You think you can escape. But you're just as trapped as he is. And when you fail, when you fall, you'll say sorry. You'll believe it's enough. But in the end? It never is."
Marcus let the silence linger, his grin widening as he savored the moment.
"Remember this, because it's true for you, too:
"Every time I say sorry, it means I will not do it again. Yet every time I have to say sorry..."