Chapter 2
He Learned How Much Death Was Worth
Arun spent the entire day trying not to think about dying.
That alone told him how impossible it would be.
Every mundane action felt fragile now—crossing the street, standing near the edge of a platform, leaning too close to a balcony railing. His eyes kept tracing escape routes and hazards automatically, cataloging ways his body could fail.
Not out of fear.
Out of awareness.
Fear was still there, yes, sharp and uncomfortable, but something about it felt… thinner. Less paralyzing than it should have been. When a truck sped past him too close, his heart jumped, but the panic dissolved almost immediately.
It left no aftertaste.
He noticed that too.
Relief would have followed something like that before. Relief at surviving. Relief at being safe again.
Now there was only continuation.
By evening, Arun sat alone in his small apartment, lights off, city glow leaking through the curtains. He held a kitchen knife in his hand.
The blade was dull at the edge, nicked from years of careless use. He turned it slowly, watching reflections ripple across the metal.
This is insane, he told himself.
Any sane person would lock the knife away, drink some water, sleep, and pretend yesterday never happened.
But sanity assumed death still meant something.
His phone lay on the table beside him, screen dark.
He hadn't received any more messages.
No instructions.
No rules.
No warnings.
Just the knowledge—placed inside him with disturbing certainty—that it would happen again.
If he died.
The question wasn't if he could come back.
It was what it would cost next time.
Arun pressed the flat of the blade against his palm.
Pain flared, sharp and immediate. A thin line of red welled up, then stopped.
He hissed and pulled his hand back.
Still human enough to flinch.
Still human enough to hesitate.
That hesitation lingered longer than the pain.
I don't have to do this, he thought.
But the thought rang hollow.
Because somewhere beneath it was another, colder realization:
If someone else killed him tomorrow, he wouldn't get to choose the price.
He stood up.
The apartment felt too small. The walls too close. The silence too loud.
Arun stepped out onto the balcony.
Eight floors down, the street shimmered with headlights and movement. Cars flowed like blood through veins. People crossed intersections without looking up, unaware of how close they were to vanishing.
Unaware of how fragile they were.
The railing was cold under his hands.
He leaned forward slightly and felt his stomach drop.
Fear surged—real, visceral, undeniable.
Good.
That meant fear hadn't been taken yet.
What happens if it is? he wondered.
The thought disturbed him more than the height.
Arun climbed onto the railing.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His breathing turned shallow. Sweat slicked his palms as he balanced there, arms out slightly, body swaying with the night breeze.
Every instinct screamed at him to get down.
To live.
And for the first time since waking up yesterday, Arun understood something clearly.
This wasn't bravery.
This was negotiation.
"I'm choosing," he whispered.
The city did not answer.
He closed his eyes.
And stepped forward.
There was no time to scream.
The fall tore the air from his lungs, stole his thoughts, compressed the world into a single violent sensation.
Impact came like an eraser.
Then—
Darkness.
Not empty this time.
Organized.
Designation: Arun
Status: Deceased
Cause: Voluntary Termination
Condition: Recurrent
The presence returned, closer than before.
More familiar.
Pattern recognized.
Behavioral deviation noted.
Arun tried to speak. He couldn't feel his body. Couldn't feel anything.
But he could think.
I chose this, he thought fiercely. That has to matter.
A pause.
Longer than the last one.
Clarification:
Choice does not alter cost.
Something tightened around his awareness.
However…
Choice alters classification.
Arun felt something like attention sharpen.
Reinstatement Protocol – Modified
Pain returned—less chaotic this time. More efficient. His body reassembled itself faster, cleaner, as if the process had learned from last time.
He gasped, lungs filling with air that burned like acid, and rolled onto his side.
Concrete scraped his skin.
The alley smelled of rot and rain.
He had landed behind the building, unseen.
Alive.
Again.
This time, the absence was immediate.
He felt it before the voice returned.
A dullness spreading through his chest, like frost creeping across glass.
Not fear.
Fear was still there—he could feel it pulsing faintly, like a distant echo.
But something else was gone.
Something heavier.
Reinstatement complete.
The presence spoke without ceremony.
Payment processed.
Human Component Removed: Hesitation
Arun froze.
Hesitation.
The word settled into him like a verdict.
He tested it instinctively.
He pushed himself to his feet without pausing to assess pain. Without weighing consequences. Without that familiar mental drag that usually slowed every action.
Movement came first.
Thought followed.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
Smooth. Immediate. Efficient.
No internal argument.
No delay.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat—and died halfway out.
Because even as he recognized the advantage, something else became terrifyingly clear.
The space where hesitation used to live was empty.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Record Updated
Deaths: 2
Classification: Self-Initiated
Note: Subject demonstrates accelerated adaptation.
Arun leaned against the damp brick wall, breathing hard.
He tried to imagine himself before—standing on the balcony, shaking, arguing with himself.
That version of him felt… distant.
Not gone.
But already fading at the edges.
He looked down at his hands.
They were steady.
Too steady.
"If I keep doing this," he whispered, "what's left?"
The system did not answer immediately.
Then, softly—
Remaining Human Components:
Sufficient
Not comforting.
Not threatening.
Just factual.
Arun pushed himself away from the wall and walked out of the alley.
This time, when he stepped into the street without looking, cars screeching to a halt inches from him, he didn't freeze.
Didn't panic.
Didn't apologize.
He kept walking.
Behind him, drivers shouted. Horns blared. Someone cursed.
Arun didn't turn around.
Because somewhere deep inside, a new understanding had taken root.
Death wasn't giving him power.
It was removing resistance.
And one day—
There would be nothing left to stop him at all.
End of Chapter 2