"In accordance with the court's ruling, the defendant, Martin Gyllenhaal, has been found guilty of first-degree murder. Considering the critical facts of the case and the defendant's criminal record, this court sentences the defendant to fifty years of imprisonment followed by execution. The imprisonment shall be carried out in the form of cryogenic sleep, with no possibility of parole."

As the gavel struck the cushion, I couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Even my lawyer shot me a glare.

I turned my head and saw little Alice's family huddled together, while that beautiful prosecutor whispered words of comfort to them—damn it, why didn’t I meet her first? Then a large man, probably that fool Alice's father, tried to shove the bailiff aside to get to me, his neck flushed with rage, but I wasn’t scared, not even if he had managed to reach me.

After all, I have two diseases: one makes me ruthless, and the other will kill me soon.

I was just curious how such a soft, delicate girl could have a father who looked like an NBA prospect.

That made me laugh even harder.

Fifty years of imprisonment and the death penalty at the same time? Only in America would you find such a ridiculous sentence.

"Mr. Martin, I assume you’ve heard the verdict." My lawyer straightened the documents on the table. "Your sentence is fifty years of cryogenic sleep followed by execution. There’s nothing I can do about it."

"I’m practically dead already, so why should I care?" I let out a cold laugh. "The cancer cells are spreading...where again? The doctor said I won’t live another month. Fifty years in prison? I win. Death penalty? I don’t lose either. And getting to watch this whole circus? Worth it."

"You think this is funny?"

"No...I just think you lawyers are all heartless."

"Do you even understand the significance of cryogenic sleep?" My lawyer seemed to be on a different page entirely, ignoring my sarcasm as he adjusted his glasses. "Your cancer may be incurable now, but in the future, it might be treatable. Perhaps...fifty years from now."

I laughed even louder.

They’re actually going to waste expensive cryogenic resources just to cure my illness, only to execute me afterward. This country is truly something else.

"Well, great then. It’s just a long dreamless sleep, right? See you in fifty years, counselor."

"Though I am your defense attorney..." This time, my lawyer didn’t adjust his glasses but clenched his fists. "I personally despise you."

"Suit yourself. Plenty of people hate me—you’ll have to get in line."

I burst into laughter as the bailiffs escorted me out. Just before stepping out of the courthouse, I couldn’t resist shouting, "God bless America!"

Then I turned around, expecting to see the plaintiffs’ faces twisted in anger and frustration.

But I was wrong.

They were all smiling at me, including the prosecutor.

Stolen story; please report.

It was a vicious smile. Though it sounds strange, I think it’s the same expression I wore when I tormented those girls.

For the first time today—no, possibly in my entire life—I felt a chill down my spine.

The cryogenic sleep chamber’s mattress was more comfortable than I had expected, definitely softer than the cold prison bed.

But knowing that fifty years of cryogenic sleep would feel like waking up the next day, the comfort seemed like a waste.

A rather cold, detached nurse finished checking my vitals and heart rate before briefly explaining the procedures for cryogenic sleep. It was nothing more than confirming the sleep duration, explaining that my situation was special and required an additional injection besides the sedative, and that I wouldn’t be able to wake up before the process ended.

I didn’t pay attention to a single word she said. I was too focused on her pretty little mouth. Damn, in fifty years, this beautiful woman would be an old hag—what a shame.

"...Your sleep state will last for fifty years." The nurse repeated, then attached several electrodes to my head.

"What, you’re going to monitor my brain waves too?"

She didn’t answer. She just gave me a smile.

Damn it, that smile again.

I was about to say something cheeky when the sedative was injected into my vein. Then came the endless cold and darkness.

A bunch of fools—see you in fifty years.

Fifty years of cryogenic sleep really did pass in an instant.

I opened my eyes and stared at the blurred ceiling outside the chamber. Fifty years? This looks exactly like it did when I went in.

I tried to push open the cryogenic sleep chamber—well, not exactly push. I couldn’t move my arms or legs. They seemed to be restrained.

"Goddamn it, I’m awake! Get me out of here!"

I shouted a few times, but there was no response.

That’s when I noticed something was off. It wasn’t just the lack of response—it was the lack of any sound. Apart from the lingering chill in my body, there was only dead silence.

I started to panic. Could the cryogenic chamber have malfunctioned and left me trapped in here?

Just as I was thinking that, the chamber lid opened.

A blinding white light flashed, and I vaguely saw white figures surrounding me.

Hmph, I must be a special case—the first death row inmate to undergo this punishment—so the media’s here to interview me.

But do journalists usually wear all white?

I tried to move my neck—since I couldn’t rub my eyes. The crowd around me became a little clearer. Judging by their attire, they were doctors and nurses, probably here to check my vitals.

I was just about to say something flirty to the nurse closest to me when a sudden burning sensation filled my throat, followed by the taste of iron. I wanted to shout, but something hard was lodged in my throat, blocking any words.

That bitch of a nurse had stabbed my throat with a scalpel!

I finally saw her face clearly.

It was little Alice.

Then I saw the faces of everyone around me. They were Gina, Christine, and a few others whose names I couldn’t remember but whose faces I recognized. Oh, and their families. I even saw that prosecutor, the lawyer with the gold-rimmed glasses, and the cold nurse.

Each of them held a scalpel.

I desperately tried to wriggle away, but the next second, a cold sensation swept across my chest. It was that nurse. She was slowly tracing my chest with the scalpel, as if deciding where to start cutting.

Damn it, weren’t they supposed to cure me before executing me? And wasn’t it supposed to be a lethal injection?

I cursed frantically in my mind. Then I felt a sharp pain in my eyelids, and my world turned red.

Someone had sliced off my eyelids.

In that moment, I saw two things clearly.

First, the clock on the wall hadn’t moved a single second.

Second, the expressions on everyone’s faces—it was that eerie smile.

In an instant, I understood everything.

"Fifty years of imprisonment and the death penalty simultaneously." "Cryogenic sleep is just a long dreamless sleep." "You will be injected with two drugs." "Plenty of people hate me—you’ll have to get in line..."

And, "Your sleep state will last for fifty years."

"This is the brainwave recording of the prisoner Martin Gyllenhaal from today."

"No, we don’t want to see it..."

"Give it to me. I want to see."

"...Alright."

"Honey, it’s been three years now. It’s enough, more than enough. Stop torturing yourself..."

"I have to witness this." Alice's father snatched the tape from the prosecutor's hand. "The weight of a person’s death—that inhuman bastard has to know what that feels like." He stared blankly into the distance—almost as if to motivate himself to say the next words:

"So do we."