I'm sorry, Father.
I'm here eating chips, watching television. Enjoying life while getting paid by the government monthly, while my parents' bodies rot in graves. Don't even remember the date it was. Let me grab my phone and check the date-
WHAT!
Already December 9th, 2026?! Not going outside for six months straight can do something to a man. At least I still got my athletic build, blonde shiny hair, and unforgettable blue eyes. Thank you, mother and fath—
"Case 1901… reports live!"
Huh, my television just popped something interesting, for once? It was the same case as my parents died in. I grabbed the half-broken remote and increased the volume.
"Authorities have reopened the decade-old homicide case of both Mr Alex Jackson and his wife, Mrs. Maria Jackson." The reporter on television continued. "The suspect remains unidentified!"
Perhaps because nobody from the police force seemed to care about anyone else but themselves. I hate it. I never understood why my dad would become one. All police officers take advantage of the Law. Nothing else to it, just that.
"Well, news just in, detectives discovered head clues on the case!" The reporter continued.
Wait, no way? Ten years after they died, probably some insignificant detail.
"The suspect is active as we speak! His exact position is unknown. The Florida State Police Department has issued a statewide alert. Lock your doors and windows. Report any suspicious activities. Stay safe."
Huhh! I'm in Florida! Should I become a hero and chase him down? Yeah, no… I'm better off dead.
"So, you're still not going to figure out what truly happened to your mother and father?"
I replied."Yeah, there would be no poin—"
Wait… where did that voice come from? Televisions don't ask questions, do they?
"Then." I heard it from behind. Just in time. "Die."
Sweep!
I ducked; my survival instincts kicked in, probably when my father forcefully trained me. Well, at the time, I guess you could've assumed I enjoyed it.
"You dodged? I can assume that's normal for Mr. Alex's son," the voice declared.
I quickly crawled away and stood up. It was a small, square room, most times the only thing I could do here was lie down on my bed and watch TV. I guess there was also a door ten feet away, from where I was standing, that was… left open?
Why was my door open? How did I not notice?! The man in front of me was decked out in full black, like a bandit, a very conspicuous bandit. So wrong question, Why did I not notice this?
No time to think, just fight.
"I'm not ready to die! Just yet," I said, coolly.
Sweep!
He hit me with a lightning low sweep kick, giving me no time to dodge.
I started to fall backwards.
BANG!
The wooden floor hit my head. It was supposed to be a cheap product, so why did it hurt so damn bad? I hadn't even felt this bandit sweep my leg.
More questions flooded my head as the stale scent of wood assaulted: How did he get inside my house? Why is he attacking me? And how is he winning?! Why is he winning?
"Well…" I smiled, "Wanna spare my life?" I asked, as he stood there, looking down in disgust.
Since birth, I've been informed my smile was like the devil's grin. My mother, through great love, once jested that the safest thing for me was to frown.
He took off his ski mask, which was quite unfit for someone about to kill me. But his face. . . annoyed me. He was good-looking, skin like a baby's, the stark opposite of my wrinkled mug, which could terrify a newborn. He was bigger, a sculpture inspired by Ronnie Coleman himself, more athletic than I. My one pride.
So, here I was, about to die to someone who makes me look like an insect? And why was he making that face?
He was revolted. He held the spite of someone looking at a rancid self-portrait. He had my blonde hair and blue eyes, but they fit him better than they did me.
"So, you're the son of Mr. Alex?" He asked, standing.
"Yeah…" My voice was steady as I spoke, stretched out on the floor, staring up at him like it was nothing.
"You'll both be seeing the same face, right before you die." He grinned.
"What…?" My stomach dropped.
He knows my dad. No… I am stupid. He killed my dad?
My thoughts crashed like waves, each one worse than the last. So this is it?
I had accepted long ago that I'd never catch my parents' killer. But when he pulled a gleaming knife from his black jeans, something inside me snapped. I heard a voice whispering: "Don't die. No one will avenge you. You must end this here."
Bang!
I tried my own leg sweep, but he didn't budge. I grasped at the ankle in a single bound, but those legs stayed like steel. I used tricks I learned from Brazilian jujutsu. Borrow force from the ground. Shift weight like water. Bludgeon past your opponent. Still nothing, still motionless. He didn't even flinch.
I felt pain, I felt dread, I felt anger, I felt my own endless incompetence, but I could not show it. Not to him. Not to this better me.
"Utterly pathetic," he sneered, his expression twisting into something even more repulsive. "I'll at least give you my name." His tone dripped with arrogance, not that it mattered to me.
"It's Lucius."
Chris Jackson. That's my name. At least it sounds better. Stronger. Carries some pride, some honor. But now? Doesn't mean a damn thing.
"You probably thought I moved," Lucius said as he began walking towards me. "I didn't. Not even once. You were just a waste of my time. For both of us, is it not better you die?"
You've got to be kidding me. I just lost to a man who didn't even move. Bruce Lee's son out of wedlock? Why come to do murder then? Not once had he moved. Maybe if I were six feet instead of five-ten, I'd have stood a chance. But here I was, flailing like some pathetic kid throwing tantrums.
Every kick felt desperate and fragile. Still, when death stares you down, pride doesn't matter. We'll all do anything to stay alive, won't we? I'm no noble prince, no Lancelot. I can't die with a smile.
"You… truly are disgusting," Lucius said as he closed the final gap between us. He crouched low until we were eye to eye, his gaze cold, unblinking. The knife in his hand inched closer, slow and deliberate, until its tip hovered over my chest. Perfectly aligned with the frantic pounding of my heart.
"No… Please! I don't want to die. I'll do anything." I started to grovel. It was disgusting, even to me.
Drool slid from my mouth, snot dripping down my nose. I couldn't even wipe it away. I couldn't move at all. One twitch, and that knife would tear through my gut.
"I don't even want to kill you," Lucius muttered. "You should be grateful you were Mr. Alex's son."
SHLRRK!
The blade punched through my chest. Straight through my heart.
This is how I die? At the hands of the man who slaughtered my father and mother? How faux pas, I should have ended it myself. Maybe that would've been a better conclusion. When all you have is to lose, losing spectacularly is the most expensive gift.
Mom. Dad. Once again, I'm sorry.
Warmth flooded my mouth. Metallic. Blood. I coughed, choking on it as it spilled past my lips. I tried to breathe, but there was no air. Only blood.
My vision dimmed. Everything blurred, fading into nothing… until I saw him.
"Father…?" I whispered, dazed.
Is my brain playing tricks on me right before I die?
Maybe, somehow, and even perchance, but it was beautiful as it lasted. A tear rolled down my cheek. I was still in my room… but my mother and father were here. And I was alive. Oh. I see now. That bandit was just a nightmare. But… something doesn't add up. Why were my parents here? Am I having a nightmare and a dream at the same time?
Maybe, somehow, and even perchance, but I should just enjoy this moment.
My mother stood at the sink, washing dishes like she always did, while my father sat on the edge of my blacked-out double bed. Both of us were staring at the television, the screen glowing silently with no volume.
"Hey, Chris." My father said, "Do you still believe a policeman takes advantage of the law?"
"Well, Dad," I replied, holding my head up with both hands. "You were what people considered a 'good cop.' A good man. What ended up happening to you?"
He began laughing. "… Well, son. Do as you please. But remember… power isn't free… Someone always pays."
I looked at him, angrily, "I guess your quote resembles your death. I could, and would never die in such a boring way." I said, closing my eyes.
He laughed, "Listen, Chris. I love you. And your mother loves you. So, just remember… No matter who you are, you can always become a hero. . . You are always our hero." His words flowed down my spine.
One of the reasons I always admired my dad was that he always knew what to say at the right time.
I opened my eyes, but I wasn't with my parents anymore. I was back in the same room where I died.
The killer, Lucius, was still standing right before me. So, I did die a horrible death, and my brain was really playing tricks on me. But for some reason, I didn't hate the person looking down on me. I hated myself. Since my father's death, I have never tried to become a hero like him.
"Fu- Me," I breathed, the words barely a whisper. My eyes were empty, hollow. Like the life had already bled out of me.
Kkrkr.
I kept choking on my own blood, forcing myself to stand tall. Each breath was a struggle, clinging to life just long enough to force out one last thing… my final words.
"What was that?" Lucius said, grinning.
"Fuck you! You won't watch me die kneeling." I screamed as loud as I could, which wasn't loud at all. Then, everything went blank.
In my mind, I heard a text run across.
[Become a police officer in a fantasy world?]
Somehow, I could see it, just the text. Each letter glowed white, bold and sharp, like it had been printed in size fifty font. Everything else was gone. Around me, there was only black
How was I still alive? I didn't know, but I didn't want to question it. Something below the text appeared, in the same font.
[Yes or No?]
[You have 0.2 seconds to decide.]
Well, is this another chance at life? This time I'll try my best. I'll become a policeman; my father and mother always wanted me to be. I'll be… a hero.
Fuck it… yes!
And it clicked.
[Yes]
[Welcome to the world of Aeranthia.]