I have awakened again.
Death stared at me like a new devil freshly released from hell. I could still feel the smash to my head—it had been a messy death living as Sharif. I thought I had escaped my fate. I'd stopped Sharif from killing himself. I even gotten the bully, Josh, off my back. But death wasn't finished with me.
I couldn't believe that lunatic actually killed me—all because his life got a little hard after bullying someone to death. The same guy who had made life miserable for others and even took joy in their pain. The same guy who, even after all his cruelty, was shielded by the law while the vulnerable were left to suffer.
And yet I'm the one who dies.
The more I thought about it, the more insane it felt. I should've made his life much harder than I did. I was still whining at the top of my voice, marching toward death's embrace.
"Isn't that what you humans do? You care more about the thorn in your own finger than the knife buried in someone else's body," she commented coldly.
"He was the one going around stabbing people!" I yelled. "How could he murder me for something like that when he did far worse than anyone else? I should've punished him more!"
Death always got irritated when I whined about my unjust end. She would seize every chance to remind me I was no different—because I had taken my own life to escape the drama of living. And to also remind me that I am being punished as well.
"I can't stand hearing that from someone who's being punished," she said, hastening to bury another bullet in my skull.
I begged her to wait. I needed time. Thoughts were racing through my mind—questions I couldn't hold back. Was Sharif really going to kill himself? Had I been right to intervene? If so, why did Death let me die anyway, even after I figured it out? Was I always destined for this hell, no matter what I did?
If that were true, why did she tell me about the rules?
"You lied to me!" I accused her. "You gave me false hope—knowing I was doomed! I tried so hard, and it still amounted to nothing!"
The moment the words left my mouth, I was flung through the air, crashing into the dark, endless walls that surrounded the room. Death was angrier than ever. I knew then— that I had crossed a line.
She stormed toward me. Before I could even speak, her foot came down on my head like a hammer. It felt like my skull was about to crack.
"I never lie," she growled. "It may be fun to watch you struggle, but I don't interfere in your games. I don't need to."
Her eyes glowed, and her voice turned colder than ever.
"And if you forget your manners again, I will crush your face. And if you ever kill yourself while you're being punished, I will send you somewhere worse than hell. Got that?"
She pressed harder. I groaned under the weight, gasping for mercy. Eventually, she let me go.
I was right—Sharif was supposed to die. But the way I died, and the reason Josh killed me, had nothing to do with Death herself. It all came down to the choices I made. Things were becoming clearer—or maybe that was just the aftershock of having my face almost crushed.
Everything was starting to feel meaningless. I kept trying, and I kept dying. The cycle was exhausting, overwhelming. Maybe going to hell would be easier—at least I'd save my strength. I was tired of struggling and failing over and over.
"It's no fun for me if you give up so easily," Death muttered.
"Then why don't you put me in a body that isn't so impossible to survive?" I pleaded.
"That would be even less fun. You're meant to feel the punishment to the bone," she answered, her voice dripping with cruelty.
How can someone's suffering be another's joy? This world is insane—and the afterlife, even worse.
"The pain will only get worse from now on," she declared—and shot me again.
What is this? Where am I? What's that noise?
I must be reincarnated again.
All I could hear was the metallic scrape of a machete being sharpened. My face was covered with a damp cloth— and I could barely see. No voices, just cold steel and a deafening silence yet terrifying.
I was strapped to a chair, leaned backward, feet off the ground. Suddenly, water was poured over my head. I gasped, choking, struggling to breathe. Life was flashing before my eyes.
"Am I going to die again? Right after reincarnating? Before even knowing whose life I'm living now?"
"Hold him again," a voice ordered.
The chair tilted again. More water. More choking. After a while, the cloth was ripped from my face.
I was surrounded by muscular men armed with knives and torturous metal tools. This looked like a cartel interrogation. They were definitely not here to talk things out.
"Talk. Where's the money and the girl?" one of them growled—the leader, I assumed.
"What? I—I don't know what you're talking about!" I replied, trying to sound convincing.
"Plug out his eyes," the leader said coldly.
I panicked, struggling harder as one of the men approached with an evil-looking weapon. He smiled, claiming he'd make it "quick and clean" since we'd been friends once.
Friends? I barely know who I was!
I had to act fast.
"Wait—please! I'll talk!" I blurted. "Just… just give me a moment. I don't remember anything right now, but I will. I promise!"
The leader's face twisted with rage. He stood up, grabbed a massive hammer, and stalked toward me. He wanted to restore my memory the hard way.
Please, orb. Where are you? I need to know who I am!
Just as the hammer was about to come down, the orb appeared.
His name is Aerion. He is 35 years old. In what you call a fixer, the gang that he was part of has his clients almost all across the globe. It's quite a big secret organization in the criminal world. They fix their clients problems by any means necessary. And that of course, includes murder. There was a girl he had liked who was always being used by his boss. She got fed up living that hell of a life and wanted something new, something different. He had promised to escape with her but firstly, he had to plan their way out. By doing so, he stole a staggering amount of money from his boss's secret slush fund and stored it in a safe place. A place known just by him.
However, when he was on his way to go meetup with the girl, his boss ended up catching up with him. Now I know the person am representing and it's time to fight my way out.
Aerion was skilled. He could fight, drive, and ride a bike like a ghost rider. With these abilities, and the circumstance I find myself, it is certain that survival will be a lot more difficult, but I was certain to survive it. And the clock starts now.