The police officer raised the heavy iron baton high.
His arm muscles bunched tightly under the uniform's sleeve. "The person who had your parents killed is extremely powerful," he said his voice casual as if discussing the weather.
"They have influence everywhere. In the government in the police. You sticking your nose where it doesn't belong was a problem they needed to solve."
Adam's eyes were locked on the weapon. It hung suspended in the air for a fraction of a second a dark promise against the dim light.
Then it descended.
The metal crashed into the side of Adam's face with a sound like a melon splitting open.
The force was immense and absolute.
It snapped Adam's head to the side.
The momentum threw his entire body and the chair he was bound to with it.
The chair's wooden legs lifted from the concrete floor. Everything toppled over in a loud clatter of wood on stone.
Adam slammed onto the ground. His head took the full brutal impact of the fall.
The wood of the chair pressed hard against his back.
The ropes on his wrists held him in place like a crucifix.
A warm sticky wetness began to spread rapidly from under his head. It pooled on the cold dirty floor.
The smell of dust and his own blood filled his nostrils.
His vision swam. The edges turned a deep inky black that slowly crept inward.
The officer's shape blurred into a featureless shadow standing over him. Breathing became a monumental struggle.
Each intake of air was a shallow weak gasp that did nothing to clear his darkening mind. One final thought cycled through his mind. It was a broken loop in the static of his fading consciousness.
My family was normal. We were just a normal family. And now they are gone wiped out without any reason.
My family was normal... gone... no reason.
...normal... gone...
The darkness consumed him completely.
[FATAL DAMAGE DETECTED. HOST VITALITY AT ZERO.]
[SEARCHING FOR VALID CHECKPOINT...]
[CHECKPOINT FOUND. INITIATING REVIVAL PROTOCOL.]
A light brilliant and pure flashed in the void. It was not a gentle light. It was so intense it seemed to burn away the darkness itself.
A sterile blue text box materialized in the center of his vision.
Its letters were sharp and clear against the nothingness.
[Host Revival Action Initiated.]
The world twisted violently. The sensation of being tied to a chair the rough bite of the ropes the smell of his own blood and the blinding pain in his head vanished in an instant.
They were not just gone. It was as if they had never existed.
He was sitting upright in a different chair. This one was cushioned and comfortable.
The air smelled of old paper and the faint sharp scent of disinfectant. He was in a small partitioned space—a cubicle.
Sunlight streamed through a nearby window.
In front of him sitting behind a cluttered desk was his math teacher Mr. James.
The man watched him with a concerned expression.
He was leaning forward slightly with his elbows on a stack of ungraded papers.
"Adam," Mr. James began his voice slow and careful like he was talking to a scared animal. "I know the news about your parents' accident has been a tremendous shock. I can't imagine what you're going through."
The word "accident" struck a nerve. It was a lie.
The memory of the officer's voice his casual cruelty the laughter the sound of the baton striking his skull—it was all too real.
It was more real than this sunny office. A surge of pure rage coursed through him.
It was hot and overwhelming and it drowned out everything else.
"It wasn't an accident!" Adam yelled. His voice cracked with a mixture of grief and fury. "They were murdered! Don't you understand? Someone killed them!"
Mr. James physically recoiled at the outburst. He flinched as if Adam had thrown something at him.
His eyes darted nervously to the thin walls of his cubicle then back to Adam.
He was worried about who might have heard.
He let out a long heavy sigh and lowered his voice trying to project a sense of calm he clearly didn't feel.
"Adam listen to me. The police have issued their report. Sometimes terrible things happen without a clear reason. Dwelling on this... creating these kinds of stories... it won't bring your parents back. You are young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You need to think about your future now."
Adam barely heard him. His mind was a maelstrom of confusion. He felt like he was drowning. Was that a dream? It couldn't have been. It felt too real. The pain... the pain felt more real than the chair he was sitting in now. How am I here? How am I alive? He slowly raised a trembling hand and felt the side of his face where the baton had struck.
There was nothing. No wound no swelling no sticky drying blood. Just smooth unblemished skin. He touched his wrists where the ropes had dug in.
There were no marks.
[Revival Complete. All Injuries Healed. Status: Normal.]
The blue text box appeared again floating in his vision for a moment before fading away.
It was a cold objective fact in a world that had suddenly stopped making sense.
Mr. James's voice cut through his thoughts again. This time it held a hint of impatience. "Adam are you even listening to me? I'm trying to help you."
Adam blinked. The text box was gone. He snapped his attention back to the teacher.
He saw the man's concerned face the cluttered desk the sunlight.
But overlaid on top of it all was the memory of the dark room the officer's smile the final impact. He needed to get out of here. He needed space to think. He couldn't breathe.
"Teacher," he said his voice coming out strained and quiet. "I don't feel well. I think I need some fresh air."
Mr. James studied him for a long moment.
His expression softened from frustration back to concern. He saw the boy's pale face the genuine panic in his eyes.
He nodded slowly. "Fine. Of course. You may go. But please Adam come see me again before you leave school for the day. We can talk more then."
"I will," Adam promised though he had no intention of doing so. The last thing he needed was another person telling him to move on.
He stood up quickly his legs feeling slightly unsteady.
He exited the cubicle leaving his teacher sitting at his desk looking worried.
He stepped out into the main hallway.
The noise of the school hit him. Students were laughing and talking lockers were slamming shut.
It was all so normal it was jarring. He recognized his surroundings immediately.
This was the second floor of the school building the area dedicated to teachers' offices and club rooms. Without a specific destination in mind his feet carried him forward.
He walked directly to the large windows and the metal railing that overlooked the school's front entrance two floors below.
He needed to ground himself to see something real.
He peered down. Students were streaming out of the building.
Their chatter was a distant hum. Groups of friends walked together heading for the bus stop or the student parking lot. His eyes scanned the area near the main gate.
And then he saw it.
A plain unmarked black sedan was parked conspicuously near the exit. It was in a spot clearly marked for staff only.
A jolt of pure ice went through him. He knew that car.
A sense of déjà vu so strong it made him dizzy washed over him.
But this wasn't just a strange feeling.
It was a memory.
A perfect memory crystal clear and horrifyingly detailed. He remembered this exact moment.
He had been in Mr. James's office distraught and angry about the police closing his parents' case. He had stormed out of the office just like he did now.
He had walked down these same stairs consumed by his own frustration.
Near the gate that black car had been waiting. The two men who claimed to be police officers had approached him.
They had calm professional faces. They said they had a new lead on his parents' case.
They said they couldn't discuss it in public. They needed him to come with them.
He remembered the flicker of hope he had felt. It was a desperate blinding hope.
He had gotten into their car willingly. Eager for any semblance of justice.
The memory became a vivid montage in his mind. The drive to the abandoned building.
The shift in their tone from professional to menacing. The rough hands grabbing him. The ropes biting into his skin. The chair. The sneering questions.
The pain. The final blow. The darkness.
His breathing quickened. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He gripped the metal railing his knuckles turning white.
He wasn't having déjà vu. He wasn't going crazy. He was reliving the day he was murdered.
"No," he muttered his voice a tight whisper only he could hear. "I can't risk that again."
He had died once already. He had been given a second chance by some impossible miracle.
This time he knew the trap that was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. This time he would not walk into it.