"You messed with the wrong people this time," a man's voice said from behind me, harsh, unpracticed, his voice shaking. One of those discount thugs, I guessed. The kind who thinks a gun makes him significant.
Bless him.
I turned my head slightly, enough to glimpse him clearly. He wore a tactical jacket, cheap gloves, gun pointed, his hands shaking. Oh, he seems inexperienced in murder. Seems I'll have to give him a lesson.
His fingers were twitching nervously, his breath shallow. That was going to screw his aim. Frustration welled inside me as he couldn't even aim properly without shaking like a leaf.
"This about the forums?" I asked, tapping ash off my cigarette. "Because I only called the dev's sister hot. That's not really assassination-worthy you know. Not like I raped her. Yet."
"You shouldn't joke about it," he said, finger tightening on the trigger. Did he have some kind of PTSD about messing with the wrong people or something? Because it sure did look like that. He should see a therapist like me.
"But I should die, right?"
He didn't answer.
The woman next to me sighed, like she'd seen this a hundred times. She started to walk toward the door slowly, her hips swaying seductively.
"Well, I'll leave you to your business then. It was nice meeting you while it lasted," she stated with a smile.
I ignored her and looked at the poor thug.
"Look here, friend," I slowly stood up, the woman pausing her footsteps in curiosity.
The man stiffened when he saw me coming near him, and screamed as he was programmed.
"DON'T COME NEAR ME OR I'LL SHOOT!"
I halted my footsteps, my expression dumbfounded. This man was too paranoid.
Raising my hands slowly as if showing I meant no harm, I tried approaching.
"Look la—"
"I-I SAID DON'T MOVE A SINGLE STEP!"
What the hell? The guy looks like he'll have a mental breakdown. Maybe I should give him the number of a therapist I know. He has cheap sessions, the first is free.
Pulling a small piece of paper out of my pocket, I grabbed a ballpoint pen from my breast pocket and began writing something on it.
"What are ya doing? If ya don't tell me, I will shoo—"
"Here."
Giving him the piece of paper from a distance, the man narrowed his eyes cautiously as he approached me, his eyes betraying his curiosity, but the Glock still raised.
He quickly grabbed the paper and retreated, as he read what was written, his brows creasing in a glare.
"The fuck is this?!" He spat.
"A therapist's number. I thought you would need some help like me. The guy has free sessions in case you don't know," I stated honestly, not a single grain of bad intention in my heart.
Damn, I sounded like a saint.
"Pffft—"
I heard stifled laughter from the woman, as she blocked her mouth with her hands, controlling herself. This only angered the man, as he glared at me with bad intentions. Oh, no!
"You son of a bitch!"
CLICK
CLICK
The man tried to shoot me, but as the inexperienced guy he was, was unable to shoot. The gun kept on clicking as if locked.
I walked towards him, ignoring his shrieks that were like a pig getting dragged to a slaughterhouse, before I touched the Glock in his hand, the man begging for mercy.
"Ahahahaha!"
The woman burst into laughter, tears forming at her eyes as she held her stomach.
Really, that hurt my emotions. Did I look that scary?
"Look here. This is called a Glock 19," I reprimanded him.
"The GLOCK 19 in 9 mm Luger is ideal for a versatile role thanks to its reduced dimensions when compared to the standard sized option."
The man who was crying paused, listening to my words, eyes wide.
"The first Glock 19s imported to the US were serialized with an alphanumeric stamped into the slide, barrel, and a small metal plate inserted into the bottom side of the polymer frame."
The man looked like... he didn't understand?
Impatience gnawing at me, I explained in short.
"Sigh, forget it. The mistake you made is that you moved the safety pin, but forgot to pull back the hammer. You do it like this." I took the Glock from his hands, observing it, before preparing it for a clean shot.
"Here, it's ready." I gave it back to him, fixing his position with the handgun to my forehead, painting an imaginary bullseye on my forehead.
The man was frozen, and the woman was no different, stunned.
The man quickly snapped out of it, and although he was shocked at my actions, decided to see his mission to the end.
Bang, Bang, Bang!
I moved swiftly, dodging. Not out of instinct. Out of laziness. 3 bullets down.
Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang!
Seven bullets left.
I tilted just slightly to the left—not even a full step—and the bullet missed, slicing the air where my neck had been a second ago.
"Huh?"
My foot, already planted wrong on a patch of snow-dusted steel, slipped.
There was no railing behind me. I felt it leave my back like an old friend letting go of a handshake. Only one step, that's all it took for me to say a final goodbye to the world.
My vision tilted as I found myself freely falling.
The cigarette flew from my mouth, orange tip tracing a lazy spiral through the air.
"Oh," I whispered.
The End.
No, my End.
I'm falling.
It's not fast. That's the lie they sell in movies. They make it seem like gravity is a thief—like it rips you down with rage.
No. Falling is slow. Time stretches. Everything becomes sharp. Vivid. Cruel.
I see my reflection in the glass of a hundred office windows, each one a flickering echo of my face—pale, angular, unreadable.
I see the people inside those rooms, sipping coffee, checking spreadsheets, arguing about contracts. They don't know I'm dying. Or maybe they do and they don't care.
I think about my mother. Her face as she stood in the doorway when I left at eight, her hands trembling but her mouth shut.
The air grows colder. Wind whips past me now like an old friend, whispering secrets I already know.
Maybe this is where I change. Maybe this is the moment—right here in the freefall—where I find something buried inside. Regret. Redemption. A flash of guilt. A prayer.
Maybe I could find anything.
Wow, what beautiful weather, to die while it's snowing. Good thing I chose a high skyscraper so that I can have more time to fall. It sure is cold.
I looked around me as I saw the beautifully-lit city around me approaching me. Or was it me approaching it? Heh.
Let's see... I wanted my life to flicker before me, but there really is nothing to see. I was a selfish bastard until the end.
Sigh...
All I can think about was the game I was playing, the choices I was left with after I completed the good ending, which made me gag. I personally liked bad endings, but since the good ending was the difficult one, I decided to go with it.
The only man who got the ending.
I had gotten a message on my phone after completing the game, which had made me cautious at the time. I mean, how would they know my phone number unless they had my IP or MAC address?
Well, it doesn't matter now. I was asked:
[You've reached the end… or perhaps, the beginning.
From your first uncertain steps to the final trial, you shaped this world with your choices, your courage, and your resolve. Few make it this far. Fewer still walk away unchanged.
If you could transmigrate—start again, in another form, in another world—would you?
A new life. A new cycle. A new mystery.
[Yes] [No] [Ask Me Again Later]
Whatever you choose, know this: You mattered here.
— With gratitude, The Devs]
The thought had intrigued me, and I had selected [Yes] at the time. When nothing happened, I had mocked myself for believing something like this.
Heh.
Why is this coming up to mind right now? Eh, no idea.
It seems my time is almost up, I am around two meters away from crashing into a luxurious SUV, which looks like it cost at least 500,000$. Sorry owner.
A twisted smile appeared on my face in my final moments, as I spoke with my arms wide open.
"If I could really transmigrate..."
"Then I would ████████"
CRASH!
Glass shattered, and people screamed.