(First-Person — Alex)
I clock out.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like dying insects. My shift ends the same way it always does—too late, too tired, too underpaid. I push through the double doors, and the night air slaps my face with a cold reminder that life is not, in fact, fair.
Another day of corporate misery successfully survived,I tell myself, trying to make it sound like a joke.
It doesn't work.
My feet drag across the cracked concrete of the sidewalk. Cars hiss by on the street, none of them slowing. Not that I expect any of them to. My boss's voice still echoes in my skull, some nonsense about "team spirit" and "going the extra mile." If I went any extra miles, I'd circle the earth.
I pull out my phone to check the time, but my fingers are shaking. Too much caffeine, too little sleep. Same thing every day.
Halfway through my mental rant, I finally look up—
—and realize something is wrong.
The sidewalk is empty.
Completely empty.
No pedestrians.No late-night joggers.No drunks stumbling out of bars.Nothing.
Just me.
A cold prickle crawls up the back of my neck. Cities don't get this quiet, not even at 3AM. The silence feels wrong. Manufactured. Like the air itself is holding its breath.
I slow down.
And that's when I hear it.
A low rumble.Behind me.
A vibration through the soles of my shoes.
I turn my head slowly—like a horror movie character too stupid to live—and my stomach drops.
A truck.
An enormous truck.
Headlights blazing.
Just sitting there in the middle of the road.
The engine growls once, like a wild animal warning me to run.
Then revs louder.
And charges.
"HEY—WHAT THE—?!"My body reacts before my brain does.I run.
Fast.
My shoes slap against the pavement as I sprint. My lungs burn instantly. The engine roars behind me—too close, too loud. The truck is accelerating like it wants me specifically. No hesitation. No swerving.
Just a straight line.Straight for me.
"WHO IS DRIVING THIS THING!?" I scream, breath tearing from my chest.
I risk a glance over my shoulder.
The truck is gaining.
I turn forward again and run harder. I cut corners, dodge street signs, vault over a bench. The truck does not slow. Doesn't even wobble. It follows every turn like it can predict them.
"What kind of lunatic—?!"I stumble.Trip.My knees slam into the pavement.
My hands scrape raw.I push myself up—The headlights engulf me.
I freeze.
Because in that split second before the truck crushes me—
I see the driver's seat.
Empty.
The passenger seat.
Empty.
Nobody is driving.
Nobody is steering.
The wheel turns on its own, like guided by invisible hands.
"...you've got to be kidding me," I whisper.
The truck bears down.
The world becomes white.
Impact—
⭐ The sensation of dying is nothing like the movies.
No tunnel.No warm light.No choir.
Just—
Weightlessness.Silence.A floating awareness with no body to anchor it.
I am… drifting.
Not up.Not down.Not anywhere.
Drifting in everything and nothing.
And then—
I feel walls.
Not around me.
As me.
Floor.Ceiling.Rooms.Corridors.Doors.Countless doors.
A structure of impossible proportions stretching infinitely in every direction.
I try to speak, but my voice echoes through hallways that shouldn't exist. It vibrates through foundations, floors, carpets, tile, steel, glass—my voice resonates through me.
I am a building.
A hotel.
An infinite one.
My consciousness spreads outward like water filling a container, but there is no container. There is only limitlessness. Infinity. Unending hallways folding around each other like a fractal.
I don't understand any of it.
But one thing becomes clear, sharp as a knife through fog:
The truck.
Truck-kun.
The mythical, unstoppable, reincarnation delivery service of the universe.
I actually died to it.
"That… figures," I mutter, and somewhere deep within my infinite walls, a lobby light flickers politely.
And just like that—
My new life begins.
I am the Infinite Hotel.And the Omniverse is waiting.