Ethan thought he'd fall straight into some cosmic trash bin. But as usual, the Void proved more creative than expected.
When the Gate trembled, it clicked shut like an overstuffed mailbox—thunk!—and spat them all out. The only catch: no tracking number, no estimated delivery time, and definitely no return policy.
Ethan blinked awake and found himself in a bizarrely normal world.
Too normal. Streets were unnaturally straight, houses identical, and every passerby looked like the same extra swapping outfits.
"This isn't a city," Ethan muttered. "This is copy-paste hell."
As one pedestrian walked past, they all greeted him in unison:"Hello, Host E13. Did you enjoy today's death experience?"
Ethan blinked, then smirked."Oh, I'm a VIP now? Guess the death package comes with customer service."
Meanwhile, Karl had been thrown into another world.
His sky was blood-red, smeared like someone spilled bad ketchup. Streets were empty, but stacked with grotesque statues made of flesh—like an art student's graduation project, only way too literal.
A voice hissed in his head:"You are part of the Key. You are the Blood Lock."
Karl sneered:"Perfect. I always hated being treated like a cog in the machine. Now I'm a lock? What's next, a bottle opener to complete the set?"
Elsewhere, their partner—the skeptical agent—was dumped into a third world.
This one had no sound, no color. Only an endless desk piled high with files, every single one bearing her name and ID.
She opened the first page. It read: "You do not exist."
She snorted."Knew I was just a temp. Didn't realize even my existence got outsourced."
The Gate had splintered them into different worlds, each tailored to their weakest nerve.
Ethan's was a parody of normality: everyone knew his ID, but no one was truly human. They were rubber mannequins, their smiles glued on like cheap stickers.
Karl's was a bloody cage: every step squelched, the ground swallowing his footprints, whispering, "You should have died long ago."
And their partner's was bureaucratic purgatory: signing denial-of-existence forms one by one. Each signature lengthened the desk further, until she realized it was endless judgment.
Ethan quickly caught on.
At the end of the street, a signpost read: "Exit — Nightmare Energy Verification Required."
"Great. Even hell needs facial recognition now?" He sighed and touched the sign.
Instantly, the street warped. The mannequins stopped smiling and turned toward him in sync, like NPCs switching into combat mode.
"Host E13," they chanted, "please return to your designated route. Otherwise—death will charge a penalty fee."
Ethan burst out laughing."Ha! So life really is just a loan. Guess I'll die in installments."
Karl's world was more blunt.
A colossal stone monolith towered above him, carved with his and Ethan's names. Beneath it, a single line read:
"Unlock Condition: Sacrifice one soul."
Karl glared and spat:"Knew it. You cosmic bastards love nothing more than making friends butcher each other. Can't you come up with a new game mechanic?"
The stone didn't answer. It only bled.
Their partner's trial hit peak absurdity.
After signing the 9,999th "Non-Existence Declaration", the desk finally shattered. Papers exploded into razor-sharp blades that slashed toward her.
She slammed a stack onto the desk and roared:"Fine! Maybe I don't exist—but I'm still more useful than you worthless excuses for existence!"
The desk split open into a swirling vortex that swallowed her whole.
All three were drowning in crisis, but all three heard the same whisper:
"You are fragments of the Key. Through your division, the Gate shall open."
Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead and chuckled nervously."Wonderful. So we're not teammates—we're three goddamn master keys."
He looked up and saw the sky cracking, as though someone was peeking through.
"Hey!" he yelled. "Can we retire the word 'key' already? I've heard it so much I want to change my locks."
The Void didn't answer. It only laughed.