The rain painted the city streets in a blur of neon and shimmering reflections. Traffic lights flickered like dying embers, their colors bleeding into the slick asphalt beneath Oliver’s feet as he fiddled with his umbrella, which snapped backward under a sudden gust. The storm soaked him from hood to socks. He cursed under his breath—this would happen on a night like tonight.

Ducking into La Végétalienne, Oliver was greeted by the warm, earthy smell of vegan dishes and the soft murmur of conversations behind glass. His shoes squeaked with each step, drawing a glance from the hostess. Her tired blue eyes rested above heavy bags. She didn’t seem fazed by his disheveled state or the plastic mask covering half his face. "Table for one?" she asked, her voice flat.

"For two," Oliver said. The hostess retrieved the menus without a word, leading him through rows of tables adorned with flickering candles. The place oozed sophistication with its sleek black-and-white decor and the columns of light that bubbled like giant lava lamps.

He felt out of place. He wasn’t used to wearing anything but sweatpants or jeans, but now he sported black slacks and a shirt with a white tie, which made him look like he belonged here.

Sandwich making at minimum wage didn’t pay for luxuries like this. His clothes came from his uncle, who cleaned out the apartments of those who passed. He had been surprised to learn how often no one claimed the belongings. He wondered who had owned the clothes previously and if they were still in style.

What he truly feared was the bill at the end of the night.

But this wasn’t just a dinner but an attempt to impress Ella. Was it a date? The question gnawed at him. He hoped so. Four times they’d met like this, and each time, it felt like it. But then again, no one like her could ever truly see him that way, could she? Not with his messed-up face and life.

He sat, phone in hand, scrolling endlessly through muted videos. A fitness influencer jumped rope on the screen, her tits mesmerizing, but the image vanished as soon as a server’s voice pierced his trance. "Water?"

Oliver jolted, fumbling his phone to the floor. "Yeah, water’s fine," he muttered, flustered. He reached down to recover the device with a new chip in the corner. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t even sit still without feeling on edge.

Finally, through the hazy pane of glass, Ella appeared, walked in, and folded her umbrella. Her long hair was damp, but her figure was immaculate, even under the crumpled raincoat. She smiled when she saw him, and for a brief moment, his heart sputtered. Freckles dusted her cheeks and nose, adding to the effortless charm that had drawn him to her in the first place. God, she was beautiful. 

"Hey," he said, rising from his chair to pull one out for her. She slid gracefully into it, slipping from her coat. Not a single drop of rain seemed to have found its way to her skin. The universe itself moved around her.

“I’ve had a rough day,” she said, sighed, and scanned the drink menu. “I’m getting something strong. You mind?”

He felt his stomach twist at the thought of the drink’s price, but he managed to smile. "Of course not." His finances barely stretched far enough to cover the meal, let alone cocktails, but what was he supposed to say? She deserved something nice after her terrible day. Overtime would pay his credit card minimum, hopefully.

As Ella ordered, Oliver watched her scroll through her phone, laughing at something unseen on the screen. She barely looked up, even when the server placed a colorful, layered drink before her. He took a sip when she offered it, and though the rum and sugar concoction tasted sweet, the alcohol stayed at the forefront.

Despite her distraction, Ella flashed him a smile that could have tamed an angry lion. "Sorry, I’ve been so busy.” She swirled the straw in the glass. "This is nice, though." Her lips closed on the staw, and she sucked.

Somewhere between the idle conversation and the clatter of dishes, Oliver mustered the courage to ask, “Is this a date?”`

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Ella paused, lowering her drink as her eyes flickered toward him. "You’re a great guy, Oliver," she said, her voice soft. "Any woman would be lucky to date you. But I don’t want to ruin our friendship."

The words hit harder than he expected, even though he’d known his chances from the start. He forced a smile, swallowing the lump in his throat as a plate of roasted cauliflower, masquerading as chicken, landed under his nose. Any appetite he’d had vanished.

Suddenly, the child’s voice cut through the haze of his disappointment. "Hey, mister. Can I see under the mask?"

The boy was red-cheeked and still chewing, waiting for a reply.

In Oliver’s current mood, he wanted to tell the kid to fuck off, but before he could disappoint the little brat, the child vanished in a mist of blood. For that instant, nothing made sense. He had to piece what had happened together like a puzzle.

A car had barreled through the restaurant’s front window. Screams filled the restaurant. Legs twitched from under the vehicle.

The world slowed to a crawl as a man in a red jacket exited the wreckage, laughing with a gun in his hand. The back doors popped open, and four more people with weapons appeared. They slaughtered patrons with twisted joy.

Blood sprayed the walls, stained the white tablecloths, and pooled under the dead. A waiter tried to run but slipped in the crimson sludge. A bullet bit a chunk out of his skull.

Oliver’s mind still struggled to process the chaos. Why wasn’t he running? Why wasn’t he reacting? It was as if he were watching a movie but with ear-ringing gunshots and the pungent smell of slaughter.

Ella scooted back from the chair and crawled under the table.

The man in the red coat grabbed her by the hair and hauled her to her feet. The struggle had pulled her blouse down far enough to expose a rosy nipple.

Oliver stared at it. Embarrassment washed through him. What’s wrong with me?

 The man raised a revolver to Ella’s head and whispered something in her ear.

She clenched her hands in front of her. She didn’t move except for trembling. Large eyes resisted to look at the man who would end her life.

Oliver launched himself forward without thinking, his attack barely enough to nudge the man's arm. The bullet veered off course, shattering a glass carafe. Funny, he’d sat there in shock while everyone else tried to do something to save their lives, and this was his first reaction? It couldn’t be heroism. What else do you do when you find yourself trapped in a movie? Except, he didn’t get the upper hand. The gun was now aimed at his forehead.

A tall man walked over broken glass, his boots crunching it with each step. He held a sword that flashed in the mood lighting. His figure towered over Oliver. "Complete the objective and leave him for me. This one was once my swordmaster. I hated his scarred face."

The man with the gun to Oliver’s head lowered it.

Oliver let out a breath. Is he talking about me? The man must be insane.

The sword flashed, and Oliver experienced weightlessness as his head tumbled from his shoulders. Somewhere, he’d read of an executioner who’d tested how long a person who’d been beheaded could communicate with blinks, and it had been for a fair amount of time. His last disembodied thoughts were about how pathetic his life had been.

Ella stared down in horror at him. Maybe because he was decapitated or that the plastic mask that covered the burn fell aside. Darkness narrowed his vision until all was black.

There is no time in death. The moment consciousness ceased lies no closer to itself than the end of the universe.

Yet, light. Yes, something existed beyond the final chapter. Strangely, it felt all too similar to life as it had been.

Oliver closed a hand. His body and head were together. They must be. Had it all been a dream? He’d had horrible nightmares as a child. This must be a once-in-a-lifetime nightmare that felt more real than anything.

So why not open your eyes? He dreaded to see where he was.

A braved glance revealed nothing but a bright blur. He found himself whole. A teacher once told him he had a good head on his shoulders. At least one thing was for sure, his head was on his shoulders, where it should be.

He sat upright on a cold, metal table in a room of blinding light. A dead figure draped in velvet-white robes approached.

“There’s no way they saved my life,” he whispered more to himself than the creature. “And you’re no doctor.”

The figure cocked its head, the hollow gaze of the white reaper resting on him. "NPCs shouldn’t wake up during the Reset."