Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound was steady, mechanical—a heartbeat that wasn't mine. At first, I thought I was still in the dark, still trapped in that endless void with that thing. But then I realized something stupid.
My eyes are closed.
Yeah. I'm an idiot. Even I knew that much.
I forced my eyelids open, and pain lanced through my skull—bright, white light stabbing into my pupils like needles. I squeezed them shut again, groaning. When I tried a second time, the world came into focus slowly, like a fog lifting.
'Hospital room.'
Sterile. Cold. The scent of antiseptic burned my nose. I was lying in a bed, half my body covered in thick blanket. Machines chirped and whirred around me, tubes snaking into my arms.
How did I get here?
Worse—why can't I remember my own name?
Two men stood near the door, dressed in crisp black suits. They were talking, but their voices were muffled, distant, like they were underwater. I didn't care what they were saying. I just needed answers.
I tried to sit up.
The bed creaked loudly.
Both men snapped toward me at once.
The first one smiled—a tight, practiced stretch of lips that didn't reach his eyes. Fake. Plastic. The kind of smile you give a rabid dog before putting it down.
The second man didn't bother pretending. His face was stone, his gaze sharp enough to cut.
The taller man's voice cut through the sterile hospital air like a knife. "Oh, you're awake! Welcome to the land of the living, Ren."
'Ren.'
The name rattled around in my skull, unfamiliar yet somehow mine. So... Ren is my name? It felt strange, like trying on clothes that didn't quite fit.
Before I could process it further, the other man—the serious one—stepped forward. His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. "How did you do it?" he demanded, his voice low and rough.
I blinked. Do what?
When I didn't answer, he slammed his fist against the bedside table, making the medical equipment rattle. "ANSWER ME!" Tears spilled down his face, his composure cracking like thin ice. "How did you survive the morgue demon? That thing was powerful enough to kill Scott!"
'Scott.'
The name hit me like a punch to the gut.
Memories flooded back—Dr. Scott's pistols flashing in the dark, the creature's laughter, the agony of losing my limbs, the blood, so much blood—
My hands flew to my body, yanking the hospital blanket aside.
My legs were there.
My hand—the one the demon had torn off—was there too.
Whole. Unmarked. As if nothing had ever happened.
The crying man wasn't done. "Answer me!" he shouted again, his voice breaking.
The taller man placed a hand on his shoulder, murmuring, "He would've been dead too if we hadn't interrupted. And the good news is, the morgue demon is dead."
"It should've been him instead of Scott," the crying man spat, shrugging off the touch.
The taller man sighed. "Don't be like that. What's happened has happened. And we shouldn't reveal too much here. After all, we're only here to make sure he doesn't cause any destruction... if by any chance he's a vessel."
The crying man raised a hand, cutting him off. "I don't care anymore." With that, he turned and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.
Silence settled over the room, thick and uncomfortable.
The remaining man turned back to me, his smile returning—but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're one hell of a lucky bastard, you know that?"
I almost laughed. If only he knew.
Before I could say anything, he straightened his suit and headed for the door. "You might still be in shock. Take your time to recover." He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "And don't go too far. We're always watching."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone—with my thoughts and my new limbs.
The moment the door clicked shut behind the suited man, only one name spilled from my lips:
"Dr. Scott."
Not because I mourned him. Not because I cared. But because my curse had stolen another life—another person who had looked at me and not seen a walking tragedy.
Self-loathing coiled in my gut, thick and suffocating. I can't do this anymore. I can't watch one more person die because of me.
My gaze landed on the metal scissors resting on the bedside table.
Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed them, pressing the sharp edge to my wrist. My hand shook, but my resolve didn't. This ends now.
"You know," a woman's voice cut through the silence, "someone can't die from just cutting their wrists. You have to go deep. And hit the right spot for it to work."
I jerked my head up. A female doctor stood in the doorway, a clipboard in one hand, her expression eerily calm. She strode forward, plucked the scissors from my grip like she was taking candy from a child, and tossed them onto the tray with a clatter.
"You weren't even aiming for the right artery," she added, almost amused.
I stared at her, my throat tight. Who the hell says that to someone trying to kill themselves?
She didn't seem to care about my crisis. Instead, she pulled out a stethoscope—except it was wrong. The earpieces were too sharp, the tubing too thin, like a medical tool twisted into something else.
Without asking, she pressed the cold metal disc against my chest.
Silence.
No heartbeat. No thump of life. Just… nothing.
She scribbled in her notebook. "No heartbeat," she murmured, as if noting the weather.
Then—she folded the stethoscope in half—and whipped me across the face with it.
"AGH—!" The pain was instant, sharp. I clutched my stinging cheek.
"Does it hurts?"
"YES, of course it hurts, you psycho—!"
The moment the word "YES" left my lips, the world warped.
My own voice echoed back at me, a distorted chorus of "YES YES YES" ringing in my skull. The room tilted. My vision blurred, colors smearing like wet paint. A headache exploded behind my eyes, so vicious I collapsed back onto the bed, gasping.
And then—
It appeared.
Floating above me, materializing from nothing, was something that shouldn't exist. Something impossible.
The air in front of me rippled, warping like heat haze on asphalt—then solidified into a floating screen with a void-black background. Two glowing red eyes stared from the top, unblinking, above a Cheshire grin stretched too wide.
Words etched themselves into the air in jagged, pulsing text—words only I could see.
---
{ WELCOME ON BOARD, USER }
{ NAME: REN KUROSOWA }
{ AGE: 20 }
{ THE LIFE YOU HAVE NOW IS BORROWED }
{ COMPLETE TASKS TO INCREASE YOUR LIFESPAN }
{ CURRENT LIFESPAN: 8 DAYS LEFT }
{ TIME: 192 HOURS REMAINS TO LIVE AS HUMAN }
{ LIFE STATE: CRITICAL }
---
A blue notification pulsed at the bottom:
{ NEW TASK ALERT: 1 (blue) }
I tried to speak, but my voice died in my throat as more text scrolled into view.
---
{ TASK: DEFEAT GRAGG THE CAGE DEMON }
{ REWARDS: 3 (blue) }
- { ENCOUNTER WITH GRAGG: 10 SLP }
- { DEFEAT GRAGG: 100 SLP & 30 DAYS INCREASED LIFESPAN }
{ YOUR TASK BEGINS NOW: 07:55:55 AM }
---
Instructions glowed beneath.
{ LOCK YOUR EYES ON THE BLUE WORDS AND BLINK TWICE TO OPEN OR ACTIVATE IT }
Three options pulsed at the bottom:
{ START (blue) }
{ SEE CURRENT STATS (blue) }
{ SETTINGS (blue) }
{ CLOSE SCREEN (blue) }