In the depressing corners of my office, day in and day out, I toil like any other wheel in the capitalist machine. From eight to five, I'm glued to my desk, feeding the insatiable appetite of corporate greed.
But as I reflect on this matter, I realize we office workers are little more than batteries, draining our energy to fuel the pockets of the company owners.
And what becomes of us when our energy fades, and we reach the milestone of sixty years? We retire, granted a small sum of money but robbed of our vitality.
The toll of years spent in servitude manifests in the form of chronic illnesses, a grim reminder of the stress and sleepless nights sacrificed in pursuit of another's fortune. Heart disease, adrenal fatigue, diabetes, hypertension—these are the souvenirs of our slavery, the heavy burden we bear in the last decades of our unfruitful lives.
You know the funny part about this?
These illnesses, they don't show their ugly heads in your early years of labor.
Oh no, they wait patiently until you're counting down the days to retirement, then they surprise you.
Your body, it's like a barrel holding back a flood of stress, until one day, it just gives way, and there you have it, boom, an explosion! - your main course served up on a silver platter.
But what's even more ironic is how we spend our one shot at life.
Most of us dedicate ourselves to someone or something else, without even really knowing who or what they are. It's become the norm, you know? Ask anyone if they'd rather punch the clock for a big company, where it's safe and steady, or if they'd take a shot at forging their own path, risking it all for adventure.
You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who'd pick the latter.
A wise man once said: "We're the middle children of history, man.
No purpose, no place.
We've never had a Great War, or a Great Depression.
Our Great War's a spiritual one... our Great Depression is our lives."
That's why I put my faith in rational selfishness and I've got no love for altruism or sacrifice.
Selfishness, that's the cornerstone of a person's life. It's all about looking out for number one.
Now, don't get me wrong, lending a hand without expecting anything in return can be admirable too, but only if it doesn't come back to bite you. Every interaction should be driven by self-interest, even when it comes to family and loved ones.
So, if they happen to offer a helping hand, it's not some noble sacrifice on their part. It's more like a transaction, a mutual exchange of interests and benefits.
But wait!
What the fuck?
What in the hell am I doing in this damn office?
I'm supposed to be a model, walking on them runways, not sitting here playing consultant for god-knows-what.
How the hell did I end up here? Is this some kind of sick joke, or am I trapped in some twisted nightmare? I've never been one to have nightmares, always been in control of my dreams, but this feels like a damn horror show.
This is all scrambled, like pieces of a puzzle dumped on the floor. I remember giving Lucky Blaze the fright of his life, but then it's like a black hole swallowed me up.
There was supposed to be a showdown with someone...
YES! THE HANGED MAN, that's it.
But somehow, here I am in this damn office. It's like I've been pulled into some twisted dream world.
And that man, with his tricks, his ability... what was it again? INCEPTION, yeah, that rings a bell...
Feels like I'm caught in some kind of dream, and that tattoo on his arm, a dreamcatcher, it's like a clue in this twisted game.
And how the hell did I end up in this office? Memories are slipping like sand through my fingers, and I can't grasp a damn thing.
Come to think of it, did you ever notice that when you are in a dream, it never starts like a movie with a beginning and ending, you just happen to be right there in the middle of it while not remembering where you were before and what you were doing.
YES, it all clicks into place like a twisted puzzle.
Kichil, with his sinister gift, wanted to touch me, that was his goal – a touch that plunged the unsuspecting into a waking nightmare.
In his grasp, one's darkest fears morph into reality, like the nightmare I am having right now.
Yes, my biggest fear is being some corporate slave.
So, Kichils goal is to scare the shit out of me and break me mentally causing the regenerative coma to be active in order to heal my shattered psyche.
This, perhaps, is the chilling truth behind his malevolent scheme.
IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.
Trapped in a maze of nightmares, each more frightening than the last, until the mind teeters on the brink of madness.
But for me, this is nothing, I fear no one and no thing because I am the embodiment of fear itself.
Death? Nah, not scared of it, but who wants to leave early when the party's still raging? No, I need to find a way out of this twisted dream.#
Killing myself? Too risky, too easy.
The bastard orchestrating this horror show won't let me off the hook that easily.
Time for plan B. Gripping the pen tightly, I drive it into my flesh, feeling the searing pain shoot through my hand like a bolt of lightning.
But hey, at least it's a wake-up call from this twisted slumber.
I got this feeling deep down, like a gut punch from the universe. If I get hurt here in this dream world, it's gonna hurt just as bad back in the real world. It's like an itch in the back of your mind that won't go away.
But what about Kichil? If I lay a finger on him in this twisted realm, will he bleed for me out there?
It's a gamble, a roll of the dice.
Gotta put my theory to the test. If he ducks and dodges, well, it's game on.
But if he stands his ground, I'm in for a world of hurt.
As for drawing Kichil's attention? Got a plan brewing, like a storm on the horizon.
Gotta lure him in, make him come to me.
And when he does, oh boy, he will see what true terror is...