I didn't hear the gunshot.
I only felt the warmth spread across my chest—thick, heavy, and wrong.
For a moment, I thought it was rain. The night air was cold, and my body refused to accept what had just happened. Then my knees buckled, and the alley rushed up to meet me.
My girlfriend was crying when I looked at her.
Her hands were shaking.
Her eyes weren't.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking perfectly on cue.
Behind me, a man lowered the gun. He wore a clean black coat, untouched by the filth of the alley. His expression was calm, almost bored, as if he'd just finished a routine chore.
"That's enough," he said. "Clean it up."
I collapsed against the wet concrete.
The world tilted. Sounds stretched and warped—the distant hum of traffic, the drip of water from a rusted pipe, my own uneven breathing. I tried to speak. To ask why. To beg. To curse.
Nothing came out.
As my vision dimmed, I saw her take the envelope from him.
Thick.
Heavy.
Money.
She hesitated for exactly one second.
Then she clenched it tightly.
That was the last thing I saw.
Or at least—it should have been.
I woke up gasping.
My body jerked upright as if pulled by invisible strings. Air flooded my lungs in painful gulps. Sweat soaked through my shirt, clinging to my back.
I was alive.
I froze.
The room was familiar.
Too familiar.
A cracked ceiling light. Peeling wallpaper. The faint smell of instant noodles lingering in the air. My tiny one-room apartment—the one I'd lived in for five years, scraping by paycheck to paycheck.
My heart pounded violently.
I looked down.
No blood.
No hole in my chest.
My hands trembled as I pressed them against my sternum. Warm. Solid. Beating.
"What…?"
My voice came out hoarse, like I hadn't used it in days.
Then my phone buzzed.
The sound made me flinch.
Slowly, I reached for it.
The screen lit up.
[3 DAYS BEFORE TERMINATION]
The message header was blank. No sender. No explanation.
I stared at it until my eyes burned.
Three days.
Three days before they killed me.
A cold shiver crawled down my spine.
"That's impossible…" I muttered.
I checked the date.
Checked the time.
Everything matched.
This was the morning of the day my girlfriend had smiled at me and asked me to meet her after work.
The day I'd died.
My breath grew shallow.
If this was a dream, it was too real.
If it wasn't…
Something moved.
Not outside.
Inside me.
A strange sensation bloomed in my chest—dark, heavy, and ancient. It felt like something stretching after a long sleep.
Then a whisper brushed against my mind.
Kill them.
I staggered back, nearly falling off the bed.
"Who's there?" I shouted.
No answer.
The whisper returned, clearer this time.
Take everything.
My vision blurred.
For a split second, images flashed through my head—faces twisted in fear, bodies collapsing, something black and viscous flowing into me like smoke.
I screamed.
The sensation vanished.
Silence filled the room.
I stood there shaking, my heartbeat slowly returning to normal.
"…I'm not crazy," I said, though I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince.
I forced myself to breathe.
Think.
If I really had gone back three days… then that meant one thing.
They were still alive.
My girlfriend.
The man with the gun.
Everyone involved.
My fingers curled into fists.
This time, there would be no begging.
No trust.
No mercy.
My phone buzzed again.
A new message appeared, etched in stark white letters against a pitch-black background.
[AWAKENING CONFIRMED]
ABILITY: NECROTIC ASSIMILATION
DESCRIPTION: Absorb the power of the dead.
I stared at the screen.
Absorb the power… of the dead?
My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass—pale, exhausted, and completely ordinary.
They had killed someone like this.
I let out a low, broken laugh.
"…So this is how it starts."
Outside, the city continued as if nothing had changed. Cars passed. People hurried to work. Somewhere nearby, someone was laughing.
They didn't know.
They didn't know that a dead man had just opened his eyes.
And this time
I wouldn't stay weak.