Click. Click. Click.
In a dimly lit room, the clicking sound of the keyboard echoed through the silence. A young man in thick-rimmed glasses sat before the screen, typing relentlessly. His disheveled hair, the dark circles under his eyes, and the coffee stains on his clothes suggested he hadn't moved from his spot in days.
He resembled a puppet from a horror movie as only his hands were moving across the keyboard with swift, precise movement.
Buzz. Buzz.
His phone vibrated against the cluttered desk.
He picked up the phone and looked at the message.
HR Manager Mike: Hey Andrew, I need those files and documents ready before midnight. The client isn't satisfied with your previous work and wants to review your other works before signing the permanent contract. You can manage this, right?
The moment he read the message, he threw the phone in anger and cursed out loudly, " What the hell do you mean by 'not satisfied with work'? That's bullshit! You always order me around and expect me to do it even if I don't want to. If not for these goddamn medical loans, I would never do this shitty job."
Cough. Cough. Cough.
This outburst triggered a violent series of coughs. He slumped on his chair while clutching his chest with one hand. "Damn it… my throat is getting worse day by day. Why aren't the pills as effective as before?"
He rummaged through his table's drawer and quickly found a small bottle filled with pills, took a few pills from the bottle, swallowed them quickly, and forced himself back to the keyboard with trembling hands.
He certainly didn't want to live like a modern-world slave. Once, he had dreamed of travelling the world, eating diverse delicacies, and dating beautiful girls, enjoying life to its full extent.
But his father's illness had shattered everything. All their savings, drained in ten brutal months. Then came the predatory medical loans—chains that would bind him until death.
His father hadn't even survived. Died right as the loan money ran out, as if the hospital had simply... stopped trying. They wouldn't let Andrew see him those final two months. He'd filed complaints, demanded investigations, but without evidence, nothing came of it.
Just debt. Just this chair. Just this screen.
Cough. Cough. COUGH.
This time, the coughing wouldn't stop. Andrew's vision blurred as his body convulsed violently. He crashed to the floor, gasping for air that wouldn't come and spat a mouthful of blood.
His hand stretched towards his phone, fingers trembling.
COUGH. COUGH.
The room spun. His consciousness started fading slowly.
What did I do to deserve this?
His thoughts grew sluggish, distant.
'Mike... are you satisfied now? Are those money-hungry doctors celebrating?'
'I can finally…rest…'
One final, wet cough sounded through the room.
Then silence.
Andrew's hand fell limp. His eyes stared at nothing. His heart gave one last, weak flutter.
Then stopped.
----------
'Where am I'
'Wasn't I…dead?'
Andrew's eyes opened–or at least, he thought they did.
Darkness.
Not the darkness of a moonless night, but an absolute void. No sound reached his ears. No sensation of ground beneath him. No temperature. No smell. Only sight remained functional, and all it showed was endless black stretching in every direction
"What… what is this place?"
He looked down at himself and froze.
His body was nothing but a faint and flickering white shadow. The shadow looked crudely drawn like a kindergarten child's art– a circle for a head, four limbs and a square torso. It looked strangely funny.
Andrew tried to lift his arms but couldn't. The shadow-limb flickered but didn't respond. He couldn't feel anything around himself; no resistance, no weight, no sensation. The only sense that remained functional was sight.
'Can I… move?'
He willed himself to move forward.
His shadow-body glided smoothly through the void.
'Flying. I'm flying.'
No, not quite. More like existing in a two-dimensional space where concepts like "up" and "down" held no meaning.
'Is this the afterlife? Purgatory? The entrance to heaven or hell?'
Andrew drifted through the void. Minutes passed, then what felt like an hour. The void never changed—no landmarks, no reference points. Just infinite black and his flickering white shadow.
Then, on the distant horizon, something appeared.
A blue light, pulsing rhythmically like a heartbeat.
He moved toward it. The moment he focused on the light, reality 'twisted'.
The blue light accelerated toward him at an unbelievable speed, covering the distance in a blink. One moment far, the next–
The light slammed and merged into his shadow form.
Pain—the first sensation he'd felt since awakening, exploded through his consciousness. His shadow-form swelled, distorted, as if trying to contain something too vast for its crude shape
A dark portal ripped open directly in front of him. Small, circular, ringed with faint crimson shadows. The portal unleashed a crushing suction force, dragging him forward with irresistible strength.
Andrew's shadow stretched, distorted, pulled toward the swirling darkness.
'No…wait…'
The portal swallowed him whole.
Everything went black.
---
The moment Andrew vanished into the portal, the void returned to its eerie, silent state.
A hooded figure silently appeared in the void, giving the impression that he had always been there. Nothing was visible beneath the deep hood except for his pale, slender hands, holding a glowing blue orb with otherworldly light.
"Interesting." The voice was deep and commanding yet soothing to the ears, like a warm evening. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"This was the only one that managed to get away."
The figure tilted its head slightly, studying the space where Andrew had disappeared.
"Should I reward him with something, I wonder?".
The blue orb pulsed brighter, as if answering.
Then, as silently as it had appeared, the figure faded back into the void.
Only darkness remained.
---
Pressure.
Irresistible, suffocating pressure.
This was the first thing Andrew felt after regaining consciousness; he felt like his body was being squeezed through tight, slippery, organic. He tried to scream, but that instinct died before reaching his throat.
'What… what's happening?'
After what felt like an eternity of crushing pressure and irregular movement, he was suddenly out, free from that suffocating space.
Andrew tried desperately to open his eyes, but something thick and slimy covered them– covered his entire body.
'What is this disgusting smell? Raw meat? Why is everything so slimy?'
The air hit his wet skin. Cold. Shockingly cold.
He tried to shout, to demand answers.
What came out was a weak, wailing cry.
'No. No, no, no.'
"Aww, welcome, my baby! You're so tiny and beautiful. Wait, sweetie, Mommy will clean you up. Gaby, bring me the towel, please."
A woman's voice, gentle and warm, speaking words Andrew couldn't understand. But he recognized the tone—happiness, exhaustion, overwhelming love.
Finally, he was wiped clean, wrapped in a cloth. Andrew forced his eyes open.
Blinding light flooded his vision, so intense it felt like staring directly into the sun. He squeezed them shut again with an infant's weak whimper.
"Cassian, come, hold him, he is also your son, don't be nervous" She said in the foreign language.
Gradually, the light became bearable and Andrew opened his eyes again.
The first thing he saw was a young woman with striking wine-red hair, her face carrying a gentle, radiant smile. Beautiful didn't begin to describe her—there was something almost ethereal about her features, a warmth that seemed to glow from within.
But the man standing beside her...
Andrew's newly-formed infant brain struggled to process what he was seeing.
The man was gorgeous—not handsome, not attractive, but breathtakingly, impossibly beautiful. Long silver hair cascaded past his shoulders, framing a face so delicate and feminine, it seemed carved by a master sculptor. His slender, graceful physique and elegant bearing made him look like he'd stepped out of a painting.
Even the wine-haired woman, stunning as she was, paled in comparison.
'That's... a man? That can't be.'
But, wait, Andrew realized with horror that he was still in the woman's arms. He wanted to tell them he was a grown man, not some helpless infant.
He tried to sit up.
His body didn't respond. His limbs, which were tiny, pudgy, and useless, remained unmoved.
'No way.'
The couple was smiling at him, their expressions full of love and joy.
But those smiles, meant to comfort, terrified him.
He wanted to ask what was happening, but as expected, it was another useless cry.
'I've… I've turned into a baby?'
Fighting down panic, Andrew forced himself to look around the room. It was massive—large enough to host a small party. White and gold dominated the color scheme. Decorative glass ornaments lined the walls. Elegant lanterns flickered with soft light. A magnificent crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its countless facets scattering rainbow patterns across the walls.
Everything screamed wealth. Nobility. Power.
'Have I been reborn?'
'You've got to be kidding me.'