The blue light of the monitor was the only thing illuminating the office.
It was 3:14 AM.
Cain Ashford stared at the spreadsheet until the cells began to swim. The numbers blurred. The black lines turned into grey smudges. He blinked, but his eyelids felt like sandpaper.
He reached for his coffee mug. It was empty. The ring of brown residue at the bottom had dried hours ago.
He didn't get up to refill it. That would require standing. Standing required energy he no longer possessed.
Cain was twenty-seven years old. He was a senior corporate analyst for a firm that specialized in "efficiency optimization." It was a bitter irony. He spent forty hours a week telling other people how to save time, and another sixty hours a week wasting his own life to finish the reports.
The air conditioning hummed in the ceiling. It was the only sound in the building. Everyone else had gone home at 6:00 PM. The cleaning crew had finished their rounds at midnight. Even the security guard at the front desk was likely asleep by now.
Cain's fingers hovered over the keyboard.
One more report.
Mr. Henderson had sent the email at 11:45 PM. It was marked URGENT in all caps.
"Cain, I need the Q4 projections by morning. The board meeting was moved up. Don't let me down."
Henderson was currently asleep in a king-sized bed in a house that Cain's spreadsheets had helped buy.
Cain typed a three. Then a seven.
His heart skipped a beat.
It wasn't a poetic flutter. It was a sharp, jagged twitch. Like a bird trapped in a cage, slamming its wings against the bars.
He paused. He took a slow breath.
The twitch subsided.
It was just the caffeine, he told himself. Too many energy drinks. Too little sleep.
He went back to the data.
Cain had spent his entire life being the reliable one. In school, he was the student who did the entire group project. In university, he was the one who tutored his friends for free. In the corporate world, he was the one who never said no.
He was the perfect employee. He was efficient. He was quiet. He was productive.
He was also dying.
The twitch returned. This time, it didn't stop.
The sharp pain radiated from the center of his chest. It climbed up his neck. It spiraled down his left arm.
His hand slipped from the mouse.
Cain tried to stand up. He needed to reach his phone. It was sitting three inches away, right next to the empty coffee mug.
His legs didn't move. They felt heavy, like they were filled with wet concrete.
He leaned forward, his chest hitting the edge of the desk. The keyboard clattered. A string of random letters appeared on the screen.
jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
The cursor blinked steadily.
jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
The pain was a cold fire now. It consumed everything.
He looked at the monitor. He looked at the spreadsheet that had cost him his sleep, his health, and now his life.
What a stupid way to go.
Twenty-seven years of being the best. Twenty-seven years of "optimizing efficiency."
And for what?
Henderson would find him in the morning. He would call HR. They would post his job opening before his body was cold. The board meeting would happen at 9:00 AM. Someone else would present his slides.
The company would move on.
Cain felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of spite.
Not at the company. Not at Henderson.
At himself.
He had played the game perfectly. He had followed every rule. He had worked harder than everyone else. He had been the ultimate cog in the machine.
And the machine didn't even know his middle name.
The darkness started at the edges of his vision. It was a soft, velvet black. It felt surprisingly warm compared to the harsh fluorescent lights of the office.
His head slumped onto the desk.
His cheek pressed against the cool plastic of the keyboard.
He could hear his own heartbeat. It was slowing down.
Thump. Pause. Thump. Longer pause.
He thought about the sun. He hadn't felt the sun on his face in weeks. He left for work in the dark. He returned in the dark.
He thought about the ocean. He had promised himself a vacation three years ago. He had cancelled it because of a "critical" merger.
He thought about a nap.
A long, uninterrupted nap where no one could send him an email. Where no one could ask for a projection. Where no one could tell him he was doing a great job while asking for more.
His lungs felt tight. He couldn't draw in enough air.
The blinking cursor was the last thing he saw.
jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
It looked like a flatline.
Cain closed his eyes.
If there is a next time, he thought.
If I ever get a choice again.
I'm done.
I won't be the best. I won't be the first. I won't be the reliable one.
I'm going to be the laziest person in existence.
I'm going to sleep until noon. I'm going to drink coffee because I like the taste, not because I need to survive. I'm going to sit in a chair and watch the grass grow.
I'm going to do absolutely nothing.
The bird in his chest stopped slamming against the bars. The cage opened.
Cain Ashford felt the weight of twenty-seven years of expectations lift off his shoulders.
It was the most productive thing he had ever done.
His final thought was a quiet, iron-clad vow.
Never again.
Silence.
There was no light. There was no sound. There was no pain.
Cain existed in a void that felt like a sensory deprivation tank. It was the best sleep he had ever had.
He didn't want to wake up.
He drifted. He didn't have a body. He was just a collection of memories and a lingering sense of relief.
The office was gone. The spreadsheet was gone. Henderson was gone.
Then, something flickered.
It wasn't a light. It was a sensation. A small, annoying itch at the back of his mind.
He tried to ignore it.
The itch grew. It became a pulse.
Ping.
It was a sound. A familiar sound.
It sounded like a notification.
Cain felt a surge of pure, unadulterated rage. Even in death, he couldn't escape the notifications.
Ping.
[SUCCESSFUL TERMINATION OF PREVIOUS CONTRACT DETECTED]
The words didn't appear in front of him. They appeared inside him.
[ANALYZING SOUL FREQUENCY...]
[COMPATIBILITY: 99.9%]
[CANDIDATE IDENTIFIED: CAIN ASHFORD]
Cain wanted to scream, but he didn't have a mouth.
Leave me alone, he thought. I'm dead. Let me be dead.
[CORE DESIRE DETECTED: STRATEGIC INACTIVITY]
[LIFE GOAL IDENTIFIED: PASSIVE INCOME]
[MATCH FOUND]
The void began to shift. The silence was replaced by a low hum.
Cain felt a pulling sensation. It was like being sucked through a very long, very thin straw.
[INITIATING REINCARNATION PROTOCOL]
No, he thought.
Stop.
I said never again.
[USER VOW ACKNOWLEDGED: "NEVER AGAIN"]
[ADJUSTING PARAMETERS FOR MINIMAL EFFORT]
[PREPARING STARTING LOCATION: SECLUDED]
[PREPARING INITIAL ASSETS: BARREN]
The pulling sensation intensified.
Cain felt the sudden, jarring weight of a body. It was heavy. It was solid. It was cold.
He felt wind on his skin. He felt sand beneath his fingers.
He opened his eyes.
The sky above him wasn't blue. It was a deep, bruised purple, streaked with clouds that looked like spilled silver ink. There was no sun. Instead, three pale moons hung in the sky, casting a ghostly glow over the landscape.
Cain sat up.
He was in the middle of a desert. But it wasn't a desert of sand. It was a desert of grey ash.
As far as the eye could see, there was nothing. No trees. No water. No buildings. No Hendersons.
He looked at his hands. They were younger. Stronger. The callouses from his keyboard were gone.
He was wearing a simple white tunic and trousers. They were comfortable.
He looked around.
The silence here was different from the office. It wasn't the silence of an empty building. It was the silence of a world that hadn't started yet.
A small, translucent box floated in the air three feet in front of his face.
[WELCOME, CANDIDATE 001]
[LOCATION: SECTOR ZERO (THE HOUSE OF SIN)]
[STATUS: LANDLORD]
Cain stared at the box.
Landlord?
He looked at the grey ash extending to the horizon.
There was nothing here to rent. There were no tenants. There wasn't even a blade of grass.
"Is this a joke?" he asked.
His voice was raspy. It sounded like it hadn't been used in a long time.
The box flickered.
[THIS IS YOUR NEW LIFE]
[GOAL: BUILD A COMFORTABLE EXISTENCE]
[GOAL: GENERATE PASSIVE INCOME]
[GOAL: DO NOT DIE FROM OVERWORK]
Cain let out a dry, hacking laugh.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "I've already checked that last one off the list."
He stood up. The ash shifted under his feet.
He didn't feel the urge to run. He didn't feel the need to find a phone. He didn't feel the panic of being lost in a wasteland.
He felt... fine.
It was quiet. It was empty.
If he stayed right here and did nothing, no one would bother him.
[INITIAL SYSTEM GIFT AVAILABLE]
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO OPEN IT?]
"No," Cain said.
The box stayed there.
[ARE YOU SURE?]
"Yes. I'm taking a nap."
Cain lay back down on the grey ash. It was surprisingly soft. It held the faint warmth of the moons.
He closed his eyes.
He was on a barren planet. He was alone. He was supposedly a god-candidate for existence itself.
But right now, he was a man who had finally finished his overtime.
The system box pulsed gently in the dim light, waiting.
Cain Ashford fell asleep.
For the first time in twenty-seven years, he didn't set an alarm.
[NOTICE: USER HAS ENTERED REST STATE]
[PASSIVE PROCESSES INITIALIZING...]