The subway approached the gloomy stop. The station, filled with dried corpses and skeletal remains, looked like those in the modern world. Half-cast tiles, broken pieces of concrete, red fluorescent lamps. The station was the same the first time he came here. Everything looked the same. Time seemed stuck here.
The subway opened its doors and waited for the foods in its mouth to come out. Passengers could not step out of the subway out of fear. The man stood up. He was calm enough. His time was precious. The first time he had wasted his time looking around in fear, and he had become the food of the horde of creatures.
He would quickly move away from the station and from there to the unknown. He did not look at the passengers who could not get out of the subway. He just looked at the woman crying out of the corner and left. They would die in minutes. The fates of those people had already been determined. He wasn't sure they would reawaken up above when they died like him, but it would feel good in conscience to hope so. Today was the day they would all die.
The man moved to where the creatures had pinched him the first time. He recognized his skeleton, whose bones remained, by his torn jacket. It didn't have an arm. The creatures must have been ripped off after they killed him. He stooped and looked at his own body. It was a strange feeling. The corpse in front of him did not feel like his own. It looked like an ordinary corpse and smelled bad.
He didn't know why he woke up on earth when he died. He doubted the existence of Hell before he came here. Now that he knew that hell was real, he was not surprised why he could be resurrected when he died. Everything had an explanation. He had not yet found answers to the questions he had.
Howling sounds made him out of his deep thoughts. Had to move forward. Anywhere. He knew that if he stayed here he would die just like the first time. He ran away from his corpse into the unknown. He could still hear people screaming even after moving forward.
Fear lingered in his bones, but the confidence of the gun in his hand calmed his fear, even if only a little. He learned that everything would not end when he died. His goal was to get as far as possible. He didn't think he could find his brother right now. He was trying to find his way forward for his next arrival, to see the enemies he might face.
He had thought of hell as a hot place covered in flames, but it wasn't hot. It was a stinking place, with brutally dismembered corpses everywhere. It was no different from the cave.
''How were people paying for their sins here? If everyone is dead, it makes no sense to search my brother.''
He would see it with his own eyes. He would find out if there were anyone who really lived, who suffered his punishment.
He hadn't gone far, and one of the creatures hanging from the ceiling jumped over him. People weren't really looking up. The creature caught him off guard, and before he could let him fire his gun, he smashed his head with its powerful jaw. His body collapsed after his head burst like a balloon. Before he died, his feelings of fear and anger quickly faded.
Baran jumped up from the bed. He was sweating and was breathing deeply. He held his head. He checked every part of his head, which just fell victim to fangs. It stood in place as it should have been. He felt the pain for a second, then woke up. He hurriedly grabbed his pillow and threw it to one side of the room. Through the thick curtains, the sun was trying to come in.
The sunlight came right into his eyes from the narrow gap where the curtains met. He sat up from the bed. He took his head in his hands. He looked at the parquets blankly. Letters of the flame appeared before him again.
{6 days 23 hours 36 minutes Esenler Street, Store Number 7}
The first time he woke up in his bed when he died. He tried to believe that everything was a nightmare, but the letters of the flame that appeared before him hit the truth in his face. Flames pointed to an address and a timer, just as they now show. The fire did not burn him, but passed through him when he hesitatedly brought his fingers to the flames. At first he wondered what the weekly countdown was. He had come to the subway at the specified time and address. The flaming letters told where to go to hell again. Now he died again and woke up in his bed at home.
The flaming writing flew away. Baran got out of bed wearily. He went to the bath and turned on the tap. Cold water hit his face. He looked at himself long in the mirror.
"I have to wait another week.''