The corridor to the cafeteria stretched before Julian like a wound in the building—dark, cold, and utterly still.
Dead bodies of students lay scattered across the floor, half-covered in dust and blood. Their vacant eyes stared into nothingness, frozen mid-scream or silent regret.
Surprisingly, despite the carnage, I remained unnervingly calm.
As I moved down the corridor, there were no monsters in sight.
Probably a mercy granted by the Warden's earlier presence, or… just sheer coincidence.
Julian walked forward with deliberate precision, each step measured, silent, controlled.
His golden eyes flickered faintly in the dim light, reflecting the faint glimmer of his cautious resolve.
No grand ambush. No final monster waiting to tear me apart. Just corpses and silence.
He continued to walk.
He finally reached the cafeteria.
The silence deepened further. No monsters. No traps. No gory surprises waiting for cliché tension.
"Wow," Julian muttered dryly, "how original. Absolutely nothing here to die for."
He laughed a little. Maybe a forced chuckle, but a small one, his own way of coping with the absurdity of it all.
He stepped toward the counter, inspecting the area.
In true plot-armor fashion, a single abandoned bag sat atop the counter, untouched, as if placed by some unseen hand.
His fingers hovered for a moment before he grabbed the bag and emptied its contents.
He gathered supplies from the food counter and the kitchen—canned food, a few bottles of water, and sandwiches. Just enough to last a week in this hellish wasteland.
He packed the items carefully, his movements mechanical, almost ritualistic. Like a gamer planning the next move in a long, frustrating session.
As he packed, one sandwich found its way to his mouth, and he ate it in silence.
The orange hue of the evening sun filtered through the broken windows, casting long shadows across the abandoned cafeteria.
Julian sank into a chair, its metal frame cold against his back.
The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, amplifying his thoughts, gnawing at him.
For so long, death had been a distant concept for Julian—a scary, inevitable conclusion at the end of a long, predictable life.
But now?
It had become repetitive.
Like a broken record.
Each death he suffered wasn't heroic or tragic.
They were failures. Mistakes made by the most careless version of himself.
The blade that tore his flesh… the trap that crushed his leg… the Warden's claws that sank into his back…
All of it was no more meaningful than a flawed chess move.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't unfair.
It was simply inevitable.
And in that inevitability, something shifted.
The terror that once gripped his chest loosened, replaced by a strange, hollow acceptance.
Death was no longer the enemy—it was just another part of the system.
An inconvenient mechanic of this cruel world.
He remembered how every time he died, he felt the sharp sting of hopelessness… but also the cold relief of survival after re-originating.
It was as if life itself had become a trial by pain, and death a mere checkpoint.
"Maybe death isn't the end," he thought, voice low, "Maybe it's just… bad programming?"
A bitter laugh escaped him, barely audible in the vast emptiness.
At least in this game, you can reload from a save point.
He chewed his sandwich slowly, eyes distant.
"God, I miss my games," he said, almost longingly.
The words hung in the air, sarcastic but real.
Because amid the horrors, the betrayals, the endless cycle of suffering in reality—nothing felt more normal than the thought of logging in, ignoring life, and pretending this mess wasn't real.
The orange light dimmed further, and Julian sat back, a figure caught between existential reflection and grim sarcasm.
For now, survival was enough.
But maybe… someday, he'd find something worth living for beyond just not dying.
Maybe something real.
Not just running from death.