From childhood to adulthood, everything he did was because someone else wanted it — forced it — carved it into him like a brand upon the skin.
His parents didn't hit him. They didn't scream. They didn't threaten. They did worse — they expected. They expected grades. They expected rank. They expected perfection. They expected every second of his life to be poured into success that only benefitted them.
"Study."
"Work."
"Prepare."
"Don't waste time."
"Other children are already ahead."
"You have one job — to make us proud."
Every word was a nail hammered into his skull.
Every achievement wasn't celebrated — it was just a new baseline he had to maintain or exceed.
He wasn't raised.
He was engineered.
Even happiness felt illegal.
Games? Waste of time.
Friends? Distractions.
Rest? Laziness.
His whole life was a single straight line — and he was forced to keep running on it until his lungs bled.
Not once in twenty-four years had he made a decision that was truly his own.
And yet… despite all that suffocation… he never imagined it would end like this.
---
The day his life collapsed had begun like any other.
A normal morning, a normal breakfast eaten without tasting it, a normal commute where he stared blankly out the window, trying not to think about his to-do list.
He had work later. Classes earlier. Projects due. Assignments piling up. He didn't even know why he was still doing any of it. He didn't like the field he had been forced into. He didn't like the future his parents had chosen for him. He didn't like the person he was becoming.
But he kept going.
Because he had no other choice.
Or so he believed.
He returned home late, exhausted and numb, expecting another quiet evening of studying until his eyes burned.
Instead, he opened the door to find everything gone.
The furniture.
The cash he kept hidden.
The jewelry his mother adored.
The suitcase his father used for business trips.
The entire apartment looked like a skeleton stripped clean.
There was a note on the table.
Only three words:
"Don't look for us."
He stood there for a long time, staring at the paper.
His chest felt tight.
His throat burned.
His brain refused to understand.
They… left?
They took the savings?
They abandoned him?
But why?
Why now?
Why like this?
His parents — the people who controlled every second of his life — ran away… from him?
He sank to the floor, hands trembling.
It was like his life had been a rope pulled so tightly that the instant it snapped, everything collapsed.
He didn't know how long he sat there.
Minutes? Hours?
The sky outside turned dark.
Only when footsteps echoed in the hallway did he raise his head.
Then the door burst open.
---
They grabbed him so quickly he barely registered the hands pulling him up, the cloth over his mouth, the metallic taste in the air.
He struggled.
He tried to scream.
He couldn't.
The world blurred.
The hallway dissolved.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
When consciousness returned, it came with the sting of cold metal against his wrists.
He was tied to a chair.
A warehouse.
Dim lights.
The hum of old generators.
The smell of oil and damp concrete.
His head throbbed.
His vision swam.
He forced his breathing to slow as he realized someone was standing in front of him.
High heels clicked.
A silhouette stepped into the light.
A woman.
Beautiful.
Deadly.
Radiating danger like perfume.
Her eyes were dark — the kind of dark that swallowed hope.
Her smile was soft — the kind of soft that preceded a storm.
Her presence filled the room — commanding, suffocating.
She didn't look like the kind of gangster who operated in shadows.
No — she looked like the one people whispered about in fear, the one who walked daylight without hiding, the one who didn't need to prove power because everyone already knew she had it.
She knelt down slowly, her face inches from his.
"You woke up," she said lightly. "Good. That saves me trouble."
He swallowed hard. His voice cracked.
"Where… where am I?"
She tilted her head.
"Where you are doesn't matter. What matters is why you're here."
She tapped his cheek with a manicured finger.
"Your parents owed money."
His breath hitched.
He felt a cold wave crawl up his spine.
"What… money?"
"Thirty lakhs," she replied casually. "They borrowed it. Never repaid. And then they ran."
The realization slammed into him like a punch.
They didn't just abandon him.
They sold him to escape.
Sold him like livestock.
"They left you behind," the woman continued. "As collateral."
It was a simple sentence.
A short sentence.
But it broke something inside him.
He wasn't worth even thirty lakhs to them.
"So," she said cheerfully, "now I own you."
His stomach churned.
"What do you want from me?"
The gangster smiled — slow, deliberate, chilling.
"Two things."
Her voice dropped into something silkier, darker.
"You will marry me…"
He stared at her, stunned.
"…or you will die."
The words echoed in the empty warehouse.
Marry her?
A dangerous, lethal stranger?
A gangster?
He could barely process it.
"Why?" he whispered.
"Because I like your face," she said honestly. "And because I need a husband who won't betray me."
She leaned closer, lips brushing his ear.
"You look like the loyal type."
Loyal?
He wasn't loyal.
He was just tired.
Too tired to rebel.
Too tired to resist.
But even in that exhaustion, the idea of being forced into a marriage — another chain, another prison — made something inside him twist violently.
His whole life had been forced choices.
No freedom.
No autonomy.
Even now — when his parents were gone, when he had nothing left — he was still not allowed to choose his fate.
And that realization pushed him into clarity.
He raised his head and looked straight into her eyes.
A ruined, weary smile touched his lips.
"…I choose death."
The woman's expression didn't change.
No anger.
No surprise.
No disappointment.
Only amusement.
She stood up gracefully, pulled a handgun from her thigh holster, and pressed it gently against his forehead.
"You're interesting," she murmured. "Shame you won't live long enough to become useful."
He exhaled slowly.
For the first time in his life…
He felt free.
The fear didn't come.
The regret didn't come.
Nothing came.
He had lived a life without choices.
But in the end — he chose this.
Even if it was only a small, fragile, stupid choice — it was his.
And that made it precious.
The cold metal against his skin felt like an ending.
A release.
He closed his eyes.
"…Do it," he whispered.
The gangster stepped closer.
Her shadows swallowed the light.
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Click.
The world slowed.
He felt the pressure.
Felt the moment stretch, twist, snap.
Then—
BANG.
Fire exploded behind his forehead.
The bullet entered cleanly.
Pain flashed bright, white, unforgiving.
His skull cracked.
His vision shattered.
His consciousness tore like paper.
And as darkness swallowed him again — this time for good —
He thought one final thought.
Finally… rest.
The Human hunter.
It was a movie I watched in my childhood. Although it was a part of a universe. I didn't get to watch other movies. Why? I was busy. Study. Forcefully by parents. I hated my life. All the time.
But what can I do now?? My parents took money and run away. And the gangster kidnapped me. The gangster was a hot lady.
She gave me two choices.
Marry her or die.
Naturally...
I choose death.
She fired and bullet cracked my skull.
Yep! I died.
But! I also got reincarnated. A high school teenager. As a ghost hunter!