Where did it all go wrong?
I've asked myself that question more times than I can count. It's funny — people always say you should live without regrets, but I think that's just something they tell themselves to sleep better at night.
If I'm being honest, I don't even remember when things started to fall apart. Maybe it wasn't a single moment. Maybe it was a slow collapse — piece by piece — until one day I woke up and realized I'd become someone I didn't recognize.
I guess I should start from the beginning.
All my life, I've been… average. Not terrible, not brilliant — just somewhere in the bland middle. I was never the kid teachers remembered, never the one parents bragged about. I was just there. Background noise in someone else's story.
My parents — they meant well, I think. But they never really saw me. They had their own dreams, old and dusty ones they couldn't reach, so they shoved them onto me instead. 'You'll thank us someday,' they used to say. But I never did. How could I? It's hard to be grateful when every choice you make is someone else's idea of happiness.
And because of that… I guess I learned to live quietly. I didn't have friends. I didn't have anyone I could really talk to. I was surrounded by people, yet somehow always alone. The kind of loneliness that doesn't shout — it just hums in the background, eating at you little by little.
A girlfriend? Heh. That was never even on the table. Who would fall for a guy who doesn't even know who he is?
Looking back, it feels like I spent my whole life standing still while everyone else moved forward. And now… now I'm wondering if this is how it ends — an unfinished life, a half-written story, fading out before the good part ever began
Maybe that's the reason I got a second chance.
When I opened my eyes, the world felt… wrong.
The ceiling above me was old and cracked, its faded paint peeling in thin curls like dried skin. Morning light leaked through a small window, cutting the room into two uneven halves — one bathed in gold, the other swallowed by shadow. Dust floated lazily in the air, shifting whenever I breathed.
For a long moment, I just lay there, listening. The air carried no sound — no hum of electricity, no distant traffic, nothing. Only silence. Heavy, complete.
I pushed myself upright. The bed creaked sharply beneath me, its thin mattress sagging under my weight. My body felt smaller somehow — lighter, unfamiliar. I stared down at my hands, pale and narrow, the fingers trembling slightly as I flexed them.
The room was… bare. A single bed, a small dresser with uneven legs, and a cracked window held together by a strip of tape. Beside the bed sat a metal basin of cloudy water and a frayed towel, neatly folded. Someone had taken care to arrange everything, yet the place still felt… temporary. Like a room meant for someone who wasn't supposed to stay long.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feet brushing against the cold wooden floor. The chill shot up through my spine, grounding me, making the moment feel suddenly real.
I stood slowly, scanning the walls — chipped plaster, faint discolorations, corners darkened by moisture. A faint smell of soap lingered, masking something else beneath it… something metallic, faint but sharp, that made the back of my throat tighten.
I moved toward the dresser. The drawers were empty except for a folded gray shirt and trousers. No personal items, no notes, nothing to explain where — or who — I was.
My reflection caught the corner of my eye — a shard of glass fixed in a rough wooden frame leaning against the wall. It was clouded with dust, edges chipped, but still enough to show a silhouette.
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I stepped closer until the glass cleared just enough to reveal a face I didn't recognize staring back.
A young boy — maybe fifteen at most — gazed out from the cracked glass. His face was thin, cheeks hollowed just enough to show the shape of his bones. Dirt clung to his skin in pale streaks, and his lips were dry, almost colorless. He looked like someone who hadn't eaten properly in days… maybe weeks.
But what truly caught my breath was his hair — wild, uneven, and stark white, like fresh snow under moonlight. Not the dull kind of white from bleach or age, but something alive, vibrant, almost glowing where the sunlight touched it. Strands stuck out in disarray, framing a face that felt both fragile and sharp, as if carved from glass.
And then there were the eyes.
Electric blue. Not soft or warm — but sharp, like lightning frozen mid-strike. They pulsed faintly with light when he blinked, and for a terrifying second, I thought the reflection wasn't mimicking me at all — that it was watching me back.
The boy in the mirror wasn't me.
No matter how hard I stared, how many times I blinked or rubbed at my eyes, that unfamiliar face refused to change. It was as if the mirror itself had stolen mine and given me someone else's in return.
My voice came out a whisper.
"…Who the hell… am I?"
Moving onto the body, this new form was rather skinny — all sharp edges and hollow lines. There was a faint trace of muscle along the arms and shoulders, just enough to hint that whoever this body belonged to had worked, maybe fought, but hadn't eaten enough to maintain it. His ribs pressed subtly against the skin, and faint bruises marked his forearms like old, fading fingerprints.
I dragged my gaze downward, studying every angle, every unfamiliar shape. The skin was pale beneath the layer of dirt — too pale — and I could see faint blue veins beneath the surface, pulsing lightly. My breathing quickened as I realized how fragile this body looked. Fragile… but alive.
"This isn't me," I muttered. My voice sounded strange in this throat — higher, softer. Even my words felt like they belonged to someone else.
It wasn't my body. It couldn't be. I was supposed to be fat — the kind of soft, round shape that came from years of sitting still and eating whatever comfort food could make the loneliness hurt less. This body was the opposite — lean, starved, wiry.
Yet, when I lifted a trembling hand to my face, the reflection did the same. The boy in the mirror moved exactly as I did — a perfect, synchronized mimicry.
I touched my cheek. He did too.
I blinked. So did he.
Every movement, every breath, mirrored flawlessly.
No matter how wrong it felt… there was no denying it.
This was me now.
And then it happened.
A faint hum filled the air — soft at first, like static whispering through silence. My vision flickered, and before I could even blink, a translucent blue screen appeared right in front of my face, floating in midair.
My pulse spiked.
"What the—"
Lines of glowing text shimmered across the surface, written in a clean, digital font that seemed far too advanced for the shabby room around me.
{Congratulations, Mr. Williams. You have been chosen by the System.}
I stared at it, frozen.
"…Huh? What's going—?"
Before I could finish, the letters on the screen shifted, rearranging themselves like pixels reforming into new words.
{Calm down, Host.}
My breath caught.
"Who said that?" I whispered, scanning the room. My voice came out shaky.
No one was there. Just the creaking floorboards, the cracked mirror, and that silent, impossible blue screen floating in front of me.
{Do not be alarmed. The initialization process is currently in progress. Please stand by.}
A faint ringing filled my ears — like a glitching tone deep inside my skull. My stomach twisted. The text flickered again, symbols and code flashing too fast to read.
"What… what is this?" I muttered, reaching a hesitant hand toward the screen. My fingers passed right through it — cold air and a faint tingling sensation, like static electricity dancing across my skin.
{Integration: 12%… 37%… 68%…}
"What are you doing to me?!"
The light intensified, washing the room in blue until everything else disappeared.
{Integration: 68%… 79%… 94%…}
The voice grew louder — not through my ears, but inside my head, vibrating against my thoughts. Every word echoed like thunder trapped beneath my skull.
"Stop—! Just—stop!" I shouted, stumbling backward. The dresser hit my leg, the mirror clattered to the floor and shattered.
{Integration complete. Welcome, Host.}
A sharp surge of energy shot through my body, burning from the inside out. My vision fractured — blue light searing across everything, splitting the room into shards of color.
I could feel something crawling beneath my skin — not pain exactly, but a deep, invasive heat, like my veins were being rewritten.
My heartbeat roared in my ears. My knees buckled.
"Wh-what… what are you… doing to me—"
{Synchronization commencing…}
The light intensified until there was nothing left of the room, nothing left of me — only static, noise, and that cold mechanical voice whispering from somewhere far too close.
{Good night, Host.}
And just like that… everything went black.