The Last Night of Chris Hale
The office lights flickered like dying stars, casting long, tired shadows across endless desks buried under reports. Chris sat hunched in his usual corner silent, unnoticed, absorbed in the cold glow of his monitor. His fingers moved mechanically over the keyboard, the steady tapping almost rhythmic.
His back screamed from hours of sitting, but pain had long become familiar company.
Code… numbers… documents… everything blurred together.
"Chris, you want anything?" a coworker yawned. "I'm taking a break. You've barely moved in three days. We're all exhausted, but you… you're burning yourself alive."
Another colleague stretched lazily, chuckling. "Let him be. The boss trusts him more than all of us combined. When we finish tomorrow, drinks are on me. And Chris you're coming. Maybe you can stop living like a monk."
Someone laughed. "Leave him alone. You can't pressure someone who's basically married to his keyboard."
Chris didn't look up. His voice was flat, heavy, and tinged with the kind of fatigue that sinks into bone.
"I didn't have much growing up. No parents. No family. Moved from place to place. School didn't work out because I couldn't pay the fees." His fingers slowed. "This job… it's all I had left. Six years now."
The room quieted.
They knew he worked harder than everyone… but no one understood why.
Chris rubbed his eyes. "I know I'm tired. But I don't get choices. Life's always been… unkind. The company knows I'm stuck, so they use it. I work the hardest, but I earn the least." His voice softened. "I wanted a better life. Guess wanting something doesn't make it real."
Even the loudest coworkers lowered their heads. Chris had always been the quiet one. The dependable one. They had never realized how much he carried alone.
He saved another file. "Two more and I'm done," he whispered. "I can finish in two hours."
Two hours later, his body throbbed with exhaustion. His vision trembled.
"Finally…" He checked the time. "Seven p.m.? I started at seven a.m."
He snorted weakly. "Twelve hours… again."
He packed his things slowly. His hands trembled, but he pushed himself upright and stepped out into the evening. Cool air brushed his face, refreshing after the suffocating office heat.
For the first time in days, he allowed himself a faint smile.
"Just one drink. Then sleep."
He walked down the dim street, scrolling through his phone. Streetlights buzzed softly, illuminating quiet shops. The city felt strangely peaceful.
Until he saw her.
A girl, too young, too distracted stepped onto the road with earphones in. She didn't see the red pedestrian light.
She didn't see the speeding car turning the corner.
"Hey! Stop!" Chris shouted.
She didn't hear him.
Headlights flared.
Chris moved before he could think. His exhausted legs exploded into motion. He lunged, grabbed her arm, and shoved her aside
The car hit him full force.
A horrible crack.
Metal screeching.
People screaming.
He rolled across the pavement, vision fading, blood pooling under him. The girl was safe crying, but alive.
A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips.
At least… she's safe…
Darkness wrapped around him.
He expected a hospital bed…
a doctor's voice…
something.
But when his eyes opened
He was lying on cold dirt.
The Awakening in a Dead World
Pain stabbed through his stomach the moment he tried to move. He groaned, forcing himself upright and froze.
He was surrounded by bodies.
Dozens.
Maybe hundreds.
Men. Women. Children.
Torn apart. Burned. Mangled.
Not an accident.
Not a crime scene.
A massacre.
And not the first of its kind.
Their deaths were… monstrous.
Chris gagged. He dropped to his hands and knees and vomited until his throat burned. His mind spun.
Where am I? What happened? Why… why are there so many dead people?
His heartbeat hammered viciously.
He remembered the car.
The impact.
The darkness.
"This… this isn't Earth," he whispered. "Where's my phone? I need to call the police. Somebody… something"
Ding.
A crisp sound echoed inside his skull.
[System initializing…]
[Beginning full memory transfer.]
Chris froze.
"Who… who said that?"
He looked around wildly.
No one was there.
Fear tightened around his throat.
Then
The pain hit.
A tidal wave of memories slammed into his mind memories that weren't his. Images of a peaceful village. A boy named Jerath. A family. A sister. Laughter. Running. Screams. Fire. A monster made of shadows. A stab of cold agony.
Chris screamed as his brain felt like it was splitting open.
He clutched his head, convulsing, vision turning white.
Thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds of pure, unbearable agony.
When it finally ended, he collapsed, gasping, drenched in sweat. His stomach still burned with phantom pain, and his head throbbed violently.
But he understood now.
This wasn't Earth.
This wasn't his world.
He had been thrown into the body of a murdered boy…
in a world ruled by monsters, bloodlines, and darkness.
Chris trembled.
"…what… what the hell is this place?"