The SUV roared to life again.
Fifty-seven brutal collisions. Fifty-seven memories of pain. Fifty-seven lessons etched into every nerve and muscle.
Ethan Cole's body didn't wait for his mind. It moved on instinct.
Signal. Reflex. Command. Execution.
Roll. Avoid the heel. Kick the handbag aside. Protect the head.
Say what you will—fifty-seven rounds of training had paid off.
1.5 seconds later, the SUV tore past. Ethan had already rolled into the safe zone. Compared to his last perfect escape, this time he'd only scraped the skin off his palms.
Huff… huff… huff…
He staggered to his feet, panting hard. But before he could celebrate, he noticed QA9677 watching the woman and child at the crash site.
That smile. Thin. Ominous.
Only then did Ethan remember the second phase of training. And the consequences of failure.
In the next instant—
His right leg twisted. His shoulder shattered. His chest caved in.
Blood poured from his mouth.
That was the woman's trauma.
At the same time—
His feet snapped like braided rope. His hands turned to pulp. A massive gash split his abdomen. His skull dented inward.
That was the child's.
"Tut-tut-tut…" QA9677 appeared beside him, right on cue, admiring Ethan's agony with clinical delight.
"Hurts, doesn't it? Don't forget—the lives of those two monkeys hinge entirely on your performance. So do try harder…"
Ethan's eyes glazed over. He swallowed his last breath.
Snap. Snap.
The fingers clicked.
And so began a new kind of lesson.
Ethan finally understood why humans invented the phrase "to feel another's pain."
Every injury the woman or child suffered was mirrored in his own body. Even if he escaped unscathed, even if he dodged perfectly—if they got hurt, he paid the price.
Self-preservation was useless. After just a few rounds of Phase Two, Ethan abandoned the instinct to flee.
He committed fully to saving them.
Fully—meaning he understood that their pain was his pain. Their death, his death.
He became a shield.
If the girl couldn't dodge in time? He threw himself under the tire. Her bones were more fragile than his.
If moving the woman meant he'd lose precious seconds to escape? So be it. Take the hit. He'd died enough times to know which angles hurt less.
If someone had filmed Ethan's rescue attempts, even the coldest hearts would've wept.
Again and again, he died. Again and again, he suffered.
And in those final moments before each death, he used the last flicker of consciousness to analyze, adapt, and prepare for the next round.
He thought he'd reached his limit in Phase One—fifty-seven deaths just to save himself.
But after a dozen rounds of "shared pain," he realized he'd underestimated his own potential.
Saving two others wasn't as impossible as it seemed.
The heel didn't need to be dodged—it could be swept aside while guiding the woman.
The girl didn't need to fall—he could brace her mid-motion, saving time and effort.
Switching from a rolling escape to a seated rescue posture meant he no longer got tangled in the handbag.
Flying metal buckles? Use the girl's backpack as a shield.
And so on. And so on.
…
Mental space. Phase Two. Attempt #115.
1.5 seconds later, the SUV passed on schedule.
Left arm cradling the girl. Right hand supporting the woman. Ethan braced himself for the pain.
One second. Two. Three.
Nothing.
No pain.
Only the sound of QA9677 clapping.
"Congratulations. You've completed Phase Two."
Success. Again.
But so what?
He'd already tasted the fall from heaven to hell. QA9677's praise meant nothing now.
Ethan simply exhaled, savoring the rare moment of peace.
"You've made progress," QA9677 said. "But you seem reluctant to begin Phase Three. Or do you really think, after just a bit of training, you're ready to return to the physical world and keep all three monkeys intact?"
That…
In this mental space, Ethan had only one perfect success—whether escaping alone or saving both women.
One in fifty-seven for Phase One. One in 115 for Phase Two.
Less than 1% success rate.
Hardly reassuring.
And if, after all this suffering, he returned to reality and still failed to protect them…
He couldn't accept that.
His heart began to race.
This wasn't like the panic during escape drills. This was deeper.
No immediate threat. No imminent death.
Just the crushing weight of responsibility.
Three lives. One chance.
Less than 1% odds.
Maybe… he should keep training?
The thought made him want to slap himself.
Over 170 deaths. And still not enough?
Was he becoming addicted to pain?
"Nervous. Anxious. Doubtful. Afraid. Resistant…" QA9677 sneered. "Primitive reactions. Chemical noise. No wonder the Sair Alliance wastes so much time on education. Some civilizations really are this backward…"
"Let's see… yes, this one. Poor carbon-based monkey. You need a special lesson. One no civilization has dared to include for millions of years…"
"Just survive for 30 seconds. That's all."
"Let's call it: Disaster Aesthetics and the Psychology of Survival."
"Ready?"
Snap. Snap.
Everything changed.
No more roads. No more hospitals. No more cars or people.
Ethan stood on something orange.
It looked like vegetation. Or maybe an animal.
It grew rapidly, tendrils reaching for his legs.
All around him—giant mushrooms.
Buildings shaped like mushrooms.
Vines and orange growths formed staircases between them.
Tiny mushrooms swarmed toward the big ones.
Swarmed?
Woooo… Whooooosh… BOOM!
A wall of water roared behind him.
Ethan turned.
A tsunami. Towering. Endless.
Oh, hell.
He ran. Ten seconds later, the wave crushed him flat.
"Tut-tut-tut…" QA9677's voice returned. "Seven seconds. Even the brainless Oli grass knows to move. You wasted two seconds staring."
"Again. Ready?"
Snap. Snap.
…
Mental space. Phase Three. Lesson One. Attempt #13.
Run. Run. Run.
Oli grass clung to his shoes. He tore free and sprinted.
Run. Run. Run.
A railing blocked his path. He crashed through it.
Run. Run. Run.
A gap ahead. He leapt, rolled, scrambled.
Run. Run. Run.
Thirteen attempts. Same mushroom city. Same tsunami.
But Ethan no longer felt surprise.
This world was dying. Everything struggled to survive.
Oli grass clung to anything—rocks, railings, mushrooms, Ethan's legs.
Tiny mushrooms leapt toward the big ones. Desperate. Frantic.
In the sky, massive mushrooms launched upward. Inside, packed with creatures. Tentacles reached out, pulling others aboard.
Below, the ones left behind screamed.
Run. Run. Run.
The roar of the tsunami grew louder.
The city screamed with it.
Run. Run. Run.
BOOM! BOOM!
The wave was close.
The air reeked of salt and blood.
Debris slammed into Ethan's back.
Run. Run. Run.
A branch pierced his chest, flinging him through the air.
He landed hard. Crawled. Kept running.
Run. Run. Run.
His legs went numb. His lungs burned. The wave loomed.
Snap!
Silence.
"Thirty seconds. You passed," QA9677 said, clapping.
Ethan collapsed, bleeding, but smiling.
"Barely suppressed your primitive chemistry. Let's keep going…"
Snap. Snap.
…
Mental space. Phase Three. Lesson Two. Attempt #9.
A tornado. He clung to a massive instrument. Crawled into the eye. Survived 30 seconds.
…
Lesson Three. Attempt #6.
Avalanche. He jumped off a cliff. Dragged his broken legs into a crevice. Survived 30 seconds.
…
Lesson Four. Attempt #5.
Battlefield. Used a serpent corpse as a shield. Dodged meteor firestorms. Survived 30 seconds.
…
Thirty seconds. Again. And again.
Earthquakes. Tsunamis. Avalanches. Nuclear blasts. War. Meteor showers.
He died. He learned. He endured.
Until finally—
No more lessons.
The world reset.
Roads. Hospitals. Cars. People.
QA9677's voice returned.
"Barely resolved your primitive chemistry. Time to review. Let's fix this little problem.
Ethan stood once more before the speeding SUV.
But this time, something had changed.
QA9677 was gone.
…
Physical World. Outside the hospital.
David Ramirez, age 47, was the first among 7,057,598,742 people to notice something unusual about Ethan Cole.
"Yeah… what's the citation number?"
Phone wedged between ear and shoulder, David scribbled quickly on a notepad while laughing into the receiver.
"No problem. It's not in the system yet… Just have him come pick up the car… Got it. See you tonight."
"Joe," he called to the younger officer fiddling with a camera and a stack of traffic citations. "How many did you write this afternoon?"
"Twenty or so," Joe replied, waving his hand.
Suddenly, the roar of an engine shattered the calm.
"What lunatic's tearing down the street in broad daylight?"
Joe grabbed the camera, ready to snap a few shots of yet another reckless driver whose photos would never make it to court.
But David was already moving.
While Joe complained, David dropped his pen and dove for the window.
That's the difference between rookies and veterans.
"Accident!" someone shouted.
David didn't bother with the door. He vaulted through the window and sprinted toward the scene.
"Call the hospital! Get a stretcher! Prep the OR! Alert security—clear the emergency lane!"
He raced down the slope outside the hospital, losing his vantage point.
But he'd already seen enough.
A speeding SUV. Three people falling. A disaster unfolding.
David had handled traffic incidents for over a decade. He didn't need a full view to know this was bad.
Screeching tires. No screams. No impact.
That silence was the worst sign.
It meant no one had time to scream. It meant multiple injuries. It meant death.
Faster. Faster!
David pushed harder, weaving through the crowd.
"Clear the way! Emergency response!"
"Get off the road! It's dangerous!"
"You—driver! Place a warning sign behind the car!"
Sweat soaked his shirt. He reached the center of the crowd.
And froze.
The woman was running around, gathering her belongings—purse, sunglasses, lipstick, phone, even napkins.
"Stop! That's evidence!"
"Uncle… Mommy…" a little girl tugged at his sleeve. "Look, my shoe…"
What the hell?
She brought a child to pick up trash at a crash site?
David yanked the girl to safety and glared at the man nearby.
Wait… a child?
He replayed the scene in his mind. SUV. Man. Woman. Child.
He scanned the area again.
No blood. No injuries.
Could it be… no one was hurt?
Impossible.
He checked the girl. Then the man and woman.
All fine.
"Make way! Emergency team coming through!"
A panting doctor appeared.
"David… where are the victims? What's the situation?"
"Uh… well…" David hesitated. "These three were involved. But… no injuries."
The doctor stared at him.
David winced under the look.
To avoid further awkwardness, he sent Joe to escort the trio to the hospital for a full checkup.
With the main parties gone, the rest was routine.
The SUV driver remembered how brakes worked and cooperated fully. Witnesses came forward. A taxi driver helped manage the scene.
It took half an hour to wrap things up.
Back at the station, David barely sat down when Joe poked his head in.
"David… something's off."
"What now? Angry relatives? Driver refusing to pay?"
"No, no. Everyone's calm. Driver paid the hospital fees. No drama."
"Then what's the issue?"
"Well… both the family and the driver want to thank the young man who saved them."
"Oh?" David paused.
He'd heard from witnesses that the man had helped.
But he hadn't paid much attention.
In moments like that, even cops instinctively prioritize their own survival.
To help two strangers in the face of death?
That was rare.
"Let them thank him. We just observe."
Joe hesitated.
"I've looked everywhere. He's gone. Didn't even enter the hospital."
"Gone?"
Now David was truly surprised.
If someone saved two lives, they'd usually stick around. Accept praise. Maybe bask a little.
But this guy vanished.
A nameless hero?
David tapped the desk.
"Let's pull the surveillance footage."
"On it."
The police network was fast. Within minutes, they had the video.
"Whoa…" Joe gasped. "He's incredible!"
David said nothing.
But inside, he was stunned.
Unlike Joe, David had served in the military. He'd seen elite operatives in action.
But this?
This was something else.
In the footage, Ethan didn't flinch. He paused—half a second—to assess the driver's trajectory.
Then he moved.
Not wildly. Not recklessly.
With precision.
He scanned both sides. Calculated escape routes. Protected the woman and child with surgical grace.
No panic. No wasted motion.
It wasn't a rescue. It was choreography.
A dance.
His hands guided them gently, never letting them touch the ground.
No scrapes. No bruises.
Just perfect control.
Strength. Composure. Technique.
This man wasn't a cop. Wasn't military.
He was something else.
No wonder he disappeared.
No wonder he left no name.
"Save the footage," David said quietly. "And don't promise anyone his contact info."