I clenched my teeth, bracing against the agony tearing through my body like a hot drill boring relentlessly into my lower back. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the floor of my apartment. Again. The fall was almost routine by now, but the pain never dulled. As I lay there, sinking into the fluffy carpet I'd chosen specifically for moments like this, I told myself the pain would pass. It always did, eventually.

To endure, I retreated into my mind, escaping into another world. Not the same world each time, but always somewhere different. Somewhere better. A place where I could walk without pain.

Today's world was one where power came from emotions. Today, my power would come from anger.

Anger at the world that refused to let me live in peace. Anger at whoever or whatever had caused this unending torment. Anger at everything and everyone-including myself for being a hero.

In my imagined world, anger made me strong. But here, in this dim and empty apartment, it did nothing but echo in my chest. No one was here to help me stand, and I wouldn't have accepted their help even if they were. I refused to rely on anyone. I was still a man who could accomplish things on his own-at least, that's what I told myself. But this pain? It was my only constant, my shadow, my tormentor.

Fuck it, then. "Focus, Kale. You came to this dream to escape the pain, not bring it with you." I repeated those words to myself, over and over, like a mantra. My lips moved until they dried and cracked. Until, at last, the pain began to fade.

Once I managed to stand again, I resumed my day. Grocery day-yay. Shopping was my favorite activity. And by "shopping," I mean ordering online and waiting for the delivery guy to drop off the bags at my front door. From there, I'd embark on the thrilling adventure of dragging them into the kitchen and putting everything away.

It was a solid way to pass the time, especially since it almost always ended with me back on the floor. Exciting times.

Opening the door, I expected the usual packages. Instead, I found something... different. Along with the boxes was an envelope-just sitting there smugly on my doorstep, far out of reach of my conveniently placed mailbox. Of course. This meant I had to bend down to pick it up.

Which is how I ended up lying flat on my doorstep. Yay, me! Another win for grocery day.

Since I was already down there and clearly not going anywhere for a while, I decided to open the mysterious envelope.

Mr. Orrmons,

You are suffering.

You have two options.

Option one:

You will live a long life of pain and torment. It will not stop. You will despair. You will have wasted your future.

This is not a fate that you want. I know it.

Option two:

You accept this invitation and discover a new life. A new fate. I cannot say if that fate will be filled with pain or not. I can only promise that your current pain will be no more. Then you will be able to start new again.

Simply drop some blood onto this letter.

Sincerely,

The letter ended there, with no sender, no explanation. Just... ominous vagueness. Classic.

I stared at it for a moment, baffled. Then I crumpled it into my fist and stuffed it into my pocket, muttering something about "weird junk mail," and forced myself to my feet. Because, you know, nothing says "totally trustworthy" like a stranger demanding blood from a guy lying on his own doorstep.

That's when the second weird thing of the day happened. My phone rang.

Across the living room, the sound pierced the air, sharp and unexpected. No one ever called me unless it was for a scheduled appointment. That's why I didn't have my phone with me-I'd left it by my reading chair to keep delivery day as light as possible. No one was supposed to call, so why carry the extra weight?

And yet, here it was. Ringing.

This put me in a bit of a conundrum. Do I brave the treacherous trek across my living room-a journey fraught with grocery bags, treacherous carpet terrain, and the lurking specter of back pain-or do I just ignore it and hope for a voicemail?

I stood frozen in place, staring at my phone as if the sheer force of willpower might silence it.

And that's when something hit me in the back of the head.

Before I could even register what it was, the world went black.

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I wasn't where I'd fallen asleep-that much was clear.

Instinct kicked in, and I scanned my surroundings. The room resembled a prison cell or maybe a holding area, but it wasn't just the plain walls and sparse furnishings that struck me. There was something deliberately lifeless about the space, as though it had been designed to wear down anyone unlucky enough to be inside.

A faint, metallic scent hung in the air, clinging to me like an unwelcome ghost. My nose wrinkled involuntarily, but I couldn't shake the smell.

"No one will miss him," a distinctly feminine voice said from somewhere beyond my line of sight. There was a lilting amusement to her tone, like she was savoring some private joke. "He lives alone. No one comes to visit... not even once."

She sounded like she was smiling.

A gravelly voice responded, male and hoarse, like he'd smoked a pack of cigarettes before screaming into a void for hours. "He's perfect. Ready him. Don't hurt him anymore-we need all of his organs as healthy as possible. I'll go and change. Good work."

Wait. Did I hear that right? They need my organs?

What the actual fuck.

I froze, forcing myself to stay still despite the panic clawing its way up my throat. My mind raced, formulating a plan. I'd wait for her to get close, then strike with everything I had. They weren't going to take me down without a fight.

But of course, my back had other ideas.

As she moved closer, her steps echoing in the sterile silence, I waited for my moment. When she was finally within reach, I twisted as hard as I could toward her, ready to act. Not with lethal intent-at least not immediately-but to subdue her.

Instead, my back spasmed so violently that I couldn't stop myself from screaming in pain.

So much for the element of surprise.

It turned out that my flailing, spasmodic twist was the correct move-if only because it gave me a second to process the sheer size of her.

She was gigantic. Like every Amazonian warrior I'd ever read about in my books, but bigger. More imposing. Her broad shoulders and towering frame seemed exaggerated, almost cartoonish, and yet she was real-terrifyingly real.

And she was smiling.

Not a kind smile, though. It was the kind of smile that said she'd been expecting me to try something. That she wanted me to. Like she was savoring the idea of putting me back in my place.

As I shrieked in pain, she scooped me up with startling gentleness. The contrast was jarring. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft and soothing, like a mother calming a restless child. "Now, now. Enough of that. You are strong, and I am here to take care of you."

Her smile widened, stretching her face in a way that seemed unnatural, like a mask cracking at the edges. The longer I stared at her, the more wrong she looked-like something human-shaped but not quite human.

She cradled me in her arms, walking around the room with slow, deliberate steps, as though rocking me to sleep. The pain in my back began to subside, though not because of any relief she offered-more like my body had simply given up on feeling.

Then, as she paused, she began removing my clothes. Her hands were surprisingly careful, peeling away the fabric as though unwrapping a fragile gift. It wasn't hurried or rough-she worked with a bizarre tenderness, folding each piece neatly before setting it aside.

I could only watch, horror and humiliation warring within me, as she stripped me down to nothing. It felt more clinical than lewd, but that only made it worse. I was being reduced to an object, a task she needed to complete.

Once I was bare, she gently laid me back on the cold table.

With meticulous care, she straightened me out, smoothing my limbs into position as if arranging a doll. Then, without hesitation, she began strapping me down.

Each movement was tender, almost reverent, as though she thought this was an act of kindness.

It didn't make it any less terrifying.

The man returned shortly after. I recognized his voice immediately, even though he was now dressed in a pristine white coat that seemed out of place in this grim setting.

"Good job getting him ready," he said, his tone dripping with unsettling cheer. "You really are the best." He gave the woman a patronizing pat on the arm, like she was a pet who'd fetched a ball.

"Be a dear and fetch my tools. And the freezer," he added with a smile.

She nodded, her movements deliberate and obedient, before lumbering out of sight.

I had no choice but to focus on the man standing over me. His wide smile gleamed with a strange, manic glee, his eyes sparkling as though he'd just won the lottery.

Leaning in close, his breath hot against my ear, he whispered, "I'm not going to give you any pain meds for this. I enjoy hearing people scream."

A shudder ran through me, cold and involuntary.

He patted my cheek, mockingly gentle, before standing upright. His grin stretched impossibly wider. "Besides," he said almost casually, "you're used to pain, aren't you?"

My throat felt raw, my voice hoarse from the earlier screaming, but I managed to rasp out a single word:

"Why?"

It came out weak, barely audible, but it was all I had left.

"Why not?" he replied, his tone almost playful.

All I could do was close my eyes and pray for someone-anyone-to save me.

But there was no one.

I was alone, as I always had been. My choices had left me in this state, enduring unending pain. And because of those same choices, I'd driven everyone else away. I wasn't the kind of person people stuck around for. Bitter. Angry. Exhausting.

This was the fate I'd built for myself, brick by brick.

I heard her return, her heavy footsteps echoing through the room. The sound of metal clinking accompanied her movements, each noise sharp and deliberate. Then came a loud thud as she dropped something heavy nearby.

I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes shut. I refused to look.

He kept his promise.

No painkillers. No mercy. Only the raw, searing agony of his blade cutting into me, again and again.

And I kept my promise to scream.

Blood ran freely, pooling on the floor beneath me as he worked with methodical precision, extracting pieces of me one by one. Each cut wasn't just physical-it was as though he was slicing away what little hope I had left.

I shook uncontrollably, barely clinging to consciousness. My breaths were shallow, each one more difficult than the last. But somehow, I kept my eyes open.

And I saw the blood. I saw it run like a river, soaking through my clothes and creeping across my pants.

My pants.

Where I had crumpled the letter from earlier.

A spark of memory flickered in my mind, faint but insistent, as though trying to pull me back from the brink.

But then, everything around me began to brighten-not fade into darkness, but surge into blinding white. The metallic scent, the cold table beneath me, and the pain itself all dissolved into an overwhelming brilliance.

I saw no more, but it wasn't blackness. It was white.