'Unless… I'm the one I have to kill.'
The thought struck like a bolt of lightning.
A cold shiver ran down his spine, deeper than anything the mist could deliver.
'No no no...' He desperately tried to fight the idea, to deny the thought that wormed its way into his mind.
'Maybe… I don't have to go that far. Maybe I just have to wait it out. Yeah... once the system finishes absorbing the energy, it'll pull me out. It has to.' 'I don't have to kill myself… right?'
He tried to reject it. Tried to paint it as an absurd suggestion, a lie whispered by paranoia. But the more he thought about it, the more it felt less like an idea… and more like a creeping fact. Or at least, an unproven theory too heavy to ignore.
"Do… I really have to kill myself?" The question left his lips like poison, empty and unheard.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The peculiar sound of his footsteps floated into his ears, like a countdown, making it seem like death itself was pacing behind him.
A darker thought wormed its way in:
'But what if this isn't just a normal illusion? What if dying in this… realm… harms me in real life or worse—kills me directly?'
He thought gravely.
It was possible. Possible that his soul was caught in this desolate place along with his consciousness. If so, then dying here wouldn't just be pain—it'd be game over.
Even if only his mind was trapped, death within the illusion might still cause severe damage. And there was always that terrifying chance… that this wasn't an illusion at all.
Countless possibilities raced through his mind.
But deep down, he knew—he was just stalling.
He wasn't analyzing.
He wasn't reasoning.
He was making excuses.
Grasping for anything that could delay the inevitable.
Because he was afraid. Scared to die… or worse, to live like this.
It wasn't a battle of courage and fear.
It was fear vs fear.
The greater one would win.
And whichever one won… he'd have to live—or die—with it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed through the void-like silence, mechanical in their consistency. Almost mocking.
There was no time to waste time.
'Be trapped here forever... or die now.'
The weight of those two choices bore down on his soul.
One could be a slow, eternal death. The other… swift, but perhaps irreversible.
He didn't know the right answer. Maybe there wasn't one.
But he had to decide. Before he lost the ability to choose at all.
He weighed the two options carefully. Each carried consequences he could not undo. His choice would either change everything—or end everything.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Every second that passed, a piece of his body slipped from his grasp.
He was almost out of time.
After going over the pros and cons once more in his mind, one final time…
He inhaled shakily. And came to a conclusion.
'I choose…'
---
"…Death."
Yes.
He chose death.
Every fiber of his being screamed that it was the wrong choice. Every logical thread tried to unravel the decision.
But still—he walked toward it. Because it seemed to be the only choice left.
Die... or suffer for eternity.
Of course he chose death.
'I never thought I would see death as a form of release… but look at me now,' he thought, a bitter smile forming in his mind.
'Well, it's better than letting the unknown decide my fate.'
'Who knows what's really waiting at the end of this fog—if there is an end? Maybe walking in what seems to be a straight line is mercy compared to what might come next…'
He tried to rationalize it, justify it to himself. He had been given a new start in a new life. And yet, here he was again—back in the same helpless situation.
'I was given a new start… a new life.'
'But in that old life… I never once got to decide my own fate.'
Memories began to rise like ghosts. Each one stoking a quiet flame that slowly grew into wildfire.
'In that life, I couldn't control what happened to me. I couldn't decide my fate. It was like fate changed the course of my life every single time, no matter what I did.'
He remembered, with a mix of sorrow and restrained rage.
As he walked, those emotions grew sharper. They twisted into something heavier—darker.
"You just had to change the course of my life every single time, huh?!" He snarled into the mist, not sure if he was yelling at the heavens, at life itself, or something even more abstract—like fate.
"When things finally get better, you just have to fuck it all up again!"
His voice echoed— Or maybe it didn't. Maybe the mist swallowed it like it swallowed everything else.
But it didn't matter.
He wasn't looking for a response.
"Every time I expect something good, it turns out to be shit…" "And when I expect the worst, by some bitch-ass luck, it turns out good. Then when I think—just maybe—life is smiling at me… when I finally let my guard down… you… you—!"
His voice cracked with rage.
He felt like a puppet yanked around by invisible strings.
He didn't even know he could get this angry. At something so abstract. But how could he not be?
If his past life was a movie, it would be called: 'Unexpected: The Unlucky Edition.'
Nothing ever went the way he wanted.
When his dad died on his way back from the army.
When he fell in love with Claire, only to find out she was dating his best friend.
When his favorite coffee shop was closed exactly when he needed it most.
When he got a random leg injury right before his basketball match.
Showing up at a party fully dressed, just to find out it was canceled—and he was the only one not told.
Studying hard for a test, and none of what he studied showed up.
And even when someone made him angry, he couldn't do anything because the person was either richer, stronger, higher in status, or just untouchable.
Like it was guaranteed that whatever he expected… would never happen.
But this time… this life… He wasn't going to let things go the same way.
"Since you've given me a new start…" He muttered, voice low, seething with fire. "…I'll give you a new order."
Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the cry of someone who'd had enough.
Someone small, someone forgotten in the grand design of things.
But someone furious at fate.
He raised his head.
His eyes, filled with fury and defiance, pierced the formless mist.
"In this life…"
His voice trembled—not with fear, but with rage, conviction, determination, and pride.
"I alone… decide my fate!"
---
The words ripped from his throat like a roar from the depths of a buried soul. A declaration—raw, trembling, yet unwavering.
And in that moment, something shifted.
Not in the world around him—still wrapped in endless gray, still soaked in silence. But within him.
It was there, right there—when those words left his lips—that the weight of his old life began to fall away.
Not all at once. But like chains quietly loosening.
It was in that moment, clear and irrevocable, that he let go of the weight of his past life. The regrets, the what-ifs, the broken dreams—he released them all.
And in their place, he embraced the raw, unshaped reality of the present.
No longer bound by who he was, he stepped into who he was meant to become.
The mist around him didn't stir, the silence didn't flinch, but something within him shifted—something deep and permanent. As if the universe itself had paused, watching, acknowledging the change.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of his footsteps echoed in the stillness, rhythmic and haunting. Each step like a countdown to his final act.
'Now how the fuck do I kill myself?'
The thought came, blunt and unsettling.
Like a bucket of cold water poured over his head right after a spark of motivation.
It pulled him back, cutting through the haze—not with clarity, but with discomfort.
A harsh reminder of what he was really facing.
He could only move the upper half of his body—barely at that. His arms. His hands. That was all.
And now that he actually had to go through with it…
He realized just how hard it was to kill someone.
Especially when that someone was yourself.
'Yes, I could try strangling myself…'
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He raised his hands to his neck, locking his fingers tightly around it. He squeezed… …then let go almost immediately.
'Crap… I forgot about the pain.'
Yes. He could feel it.
He pinched his thigh—hard—and winced immediately.
"Ouch…"
'This is gonna be way harder than I thought.'
Gritting his teeth, he steeled his mind and wrapped his hand around his neck again, determined this time. The pressure cut deep. Blood vessels in his face tightened, his face turning purple from lack of oxygen.
If someone saw him right now, they would have run in terror.
Just imagine: walking alone one evening, and seeing a lone figure on a foggy path, walking in a straight line while choking himself—like a zombie trying to kill itself.
His vision blurred. Tears welled in his eyes. His body trembled. He kept going until—
His hands dropped. He gasped violently, panting, as his feet continued moving.
'Dammit… my brain won't let me do it.'
His mind was willing, but his body had its own ancient orders. Survive. No matter what.
'Even if I pass out, I'll just wake up later—only to find my entire body corrupted.'
His legs didn't stop. They just kept walking.
He could feel the ache in them, and that scared him more than anything else. It meant he still had time. But not much.
He desperately searched for a solution.
'I need to kill myself fast… and painlessly… with just my hands.'
'Cracking my neck won't work, it would just cause more pain.'
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He looked around, searching for anything—a rock, a tree branch, even a sharp stick.
But there was nothing.
His path was just filled with... soil.
Endless, dry, brown soil.
He wasn't even sure he was in a forest anymore.
Looking around, the world around him seemed frozen in a haze. He could only see a meter ahead—everything else was an opaque fog, swallowing depth and distance.
'So I really have to do this… with my fucking bare hands?'
The thought came again, laced with disbelief.
'What if I drive my fingers through my eyeballs… straight into my brain? I mean, that's how arrows and bullets kill, right?'
Slowly, like a ripple turning into a wave, the thought solidified.
It became the only way forward.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of his footsteps grew louder in his ears—like a countdown.
He raised his hands to eye level and stared at them.
His fingers hovered inches from his eyes.
He tried to thrust them forward—and stopped. Survival instinct kicked in.
Again, he tried.
And failed.
'Yo, brain… cooperate, man. We have to do this.'
He sulked internally. It was just so hard.
He knew he'd be in unimaginable pain once he did this. And yet… he had to.
He had to push past instinct. Past pain. Past fear.
He clenched his teeth. Took a deep breath—one he hoped would be his last—
Then, without giving himself time to think— Without a final word, or scream, or hesitation—
He plunged both index fingers into his eyes.