Well, another stab of pain, as if to tell him that yes you can.
His left hand jerks off the mouse. He couldn't help grabbing his chest due to sheer intensity of pain.
"No, no, no… not now," he wheezes. "At least let me cum, I had been waiting for this fucking moment for past 20 hours!! fuck you author for dragging this so long and fuck you god for choosing this time—"
As if angered by his cursing, his breath shortens further. His monitor blurred into dreamy soft lines.
He tries to stand to somehow ease the pain, at least temporarily. But of course, fails and stumbles, knocking over an artistic array of empty cans, and collapses back into his chair.
With twitching fingers, he focuses hard and barely stares at the screen… at the open tabs, the questionable filenames, the accumulation of absolute darkness of humanity.
"Hard drive… at least, gotta clear the drive…"
It's not guilt… It's instinct. He's lived online too long to die with his search history and files intact.
Forget last words of wisdom. Forget redemption arcs. The only thing that truly matters in this moment… is data management.
With this thought, he somehow gets enough strength to drag the mouse with a trembling hand, clicks one last shortcut.
Opening his proudest creation… his magnum opus of paranoia —
'Gooner Cleanup Shortcut.'
'Cleanup.exe.'
A single command to delete everything, incriminating in one go.
He barely moves his finger.
Click.
And…
… DONE!
Clean slate.
Digital baptism complete.
One final act of dignity.
And then… everything fades away.
The screen flickers once, twice, and ultimately dies as the cpu literally burns to erase any hope of data recovery forever.
His body slumps.
The chair creaks eerily.
The last thought that crosses his brain before shutting down completely?
"Thank God I made that shortcut…"
And then…
Finally Silence.
Complete silence.
…
No harps, No angels. No reapers. Not even a tunnel of light waiting to escort him to the afterlife.
Only darkness…heavy, endless, velvety darkness. A silence so complete it swallows thought. And what follows is absolute: a void untouched, where no light dares to enter, and no hope can break through.
Yet, deep within this void, a spark of life still flickers. A soul floats aimlessly through the void, detached from flesh, time, regret and lust.
Tiny, stubborn, refusing to die like the last ember of a cigarette crushed under a shoe, as if he wouldn't die until he finally cum.
It wanders between universes like a broken Wi-Fi signal, searching for meaning where none exists (or maybe just cum).
He drifts. And drifts.
No up, no down. Amidst that eternal, empty hum of the universe ignoring him.
It could've been seconds. Or centuries. Who knows? Time's got no meaning here. Just like when we are on quest to find gooning materials.
Then… suddenly… something tears through the void.
A soundless explosion of light.
A streak.
White-hot, (not that white hot) divine, blinding… like the universe itself just said, "Yeah, we're not done with this grooming legend yet."
It cuts through the endless dark and slams straight into that lonely, drifting speck that used to be a man.
For a moment, even the void shudders. The soul spasms. The darkness screams without sound.
And just like that—
Begins the legend of a man who died mid-goon…
…
…
"Aghh—! My head… hurts…"
Suddenly he opened his eyes, he blinked slowly, and the first thing he noticed beside tearing headache? Massive boobas, like really massive, the biggest he had seen in his whole life, straining against the barely covering animal hide of her loincloth, threatening to spill forth at any given moment.
Okay, he thought weakly. I'm alive. I think. Maybe. Either that, or hell's gone rustic. Because there's no way these massive boobas can exist in reality.
And just as he was entranced, staring at the boobas, a pleasant musky scent assaulted his nose mixture of some unknown herbs and body odors which instead of being unpleasant was very pleasant and strangely arousing.
He tried to move, but alas! he was too weak to even move around and could only move his eyes around. He looked down and found himself almost naked except for a tanned animal hide covering his groin.
And more importantly, he could feel that something was definitely not right, as his body wasn't this fit and athletic, and he finally concluded that this was definitely not his original body, like something was definitely different, but he couldn't pinpoint it.
Suddenly a cracking voice entered his ears, "ahh, you finally woke up, I had already told you, you are still too young to go hunting. B-but you still didn't listen."
"Y-you…you don't you know how worried I was, saying this she started crying. *sob, sob* "I-i really felt that I lost you.."*sob* seeing her cry like this, he couldn't help feeling a sense of pity, but the problem was he didn't know who she was or why she was calling him Sol.
It was definitely not his name, even though he thought like that, back in the depth of his mind, he seemed to have a faint inkling, but he didn't had time to time think further, as the woman wiped her tears and leaned forward, so much that it really felt that those massive mound would break free any time and assault him, not that he minded.
Unknowing of his dirty thought, the woman looked at him concerningly "Are you alright Sol? Why aren't you speaking?"
Reluctantly lifting his eyes from those boobas, he finally had a better look of this smoking hot woman, or more accurately MILF.
The sultry woman before him was a vision from the earthy realm of primal sensuality.
Her long, dark hair stumbled down her back in enticing waves, providing a tantalizing frame for a face at once soft and strong, that seemed chiseled from the primal earth itself - a testament to her unbridled vitality and fierce spirit.
Her piercing, emerald eyes, alight with a gentle warmth, met the young man's dazed gaze as she leaned in. her full, juicy lips, that seemed stained with the juice of a ripe berry, curved into a tender expression of concern as she reached out to caress his sweat-dampened face.