The fastest way to die is to land on your head. A fall from three feet can break your neck, and a fall from much higher will fracture your skull as well, causing instant unconsciousness and death. She fell from a height of five feet.
If she had landed on her feet, she would still be alive. If she had reached the hospital just ten minutes earlier, she might have survived. These "ifs" echoed relentlessly in my mind, an unending loop of blame and regret. Her parents' anguished cries cut through the air like jagged shards of glass, lodging deep within my soul. For any parent to see their child die before them is an unimaginable agony. I pressed my hands against my ears to block out the sound, but it refused to fade. Their grief was deafening, and so was the truth.
I sat slumped outside the operating theater, my hands clutching my head, my gaze fixed on the sterile floor tiles. The sterile white walls only amplified the suffocating weight of guilt. Maybe they were too consumed by their loss, or maybe they blamed me outright. Either way, her parents didn't even acknowledge my presence. They were not wrong. I was the reason for her death.
It's my fate. People close to me die.
…
I couldn't move on. I tried everything I could think of, but nothing worked. I sought distractions—alcohol, smoking. Those distractions soon turned into habits, and the habits became addictions. Anger took root in me, spreading like a wildfire. I lashed out at everyone—my parents, my friends. One by one, my friends drifted away, and I didn't blame them. I was toxic, a storm they didn't deserve to weather. But my parents… they stayed. They tried, again and again, to pull me out of the downward spiral. Was it family affection? Or was it guilt? I never dared to ask.
In the end, even their resolve wore thin. Exhausted, they gave up on me. And perhaps, deep down, I couldn't blame them either.
But hey, I quit drinking and smoking. So maybe I wasn't entirely hopeless. Right?
In my solitude, I sought refuge in stories. Anime became my first escape, a world far removed from my own. When anime left me wanting more, I turned to manga. When manga couldn't satisfy me, I moved to novels. And when novels didn't update quickly enough, I discovered fanfiction. These tales gave me fleeting comfort, a temporary balm for the ache inside. But they were only distractions, treating the symptoms while the root of my pain remained untouched.
"Let me stop you right there," a voice interrupted, pulling me from my thoughts. I blinked, startled, as my surroundings shifted. Before me stood a man in a crisp white lab coat, a pocket watch dangling from his hand. His demeanor was calm, almost otherworldly.
"Who… who are you?" I asked, my voice shaky. I rubbed my eyes, convinced this was some hallucination brought on by sleepless nights or questionable food choices.
"I assure you, this is no illusion," he replied with a faint smile. "Though, I must admit, your diet could use some improvement."
I stared at him, skepticism warring with curiosity. "Okay, let's assume you're real. What do you want?"
"I'm here to offer you a choice," he said, his voice steady and deliberate. "Do you want to continue this life, wallowing in despair? Or do you want to do something meaningful?"
His words struck a chord deep within me. Was this some manifestation of my subconscious, a desperate attempt to pull myself out of the abyss?
"Isn't it obvious?" I replied, my voice laced with frustration and a glimmer of hope. "I want to change. I… I want to do something meaningful. I'm tired of being stuck like this. I tried to move on, but I couldn't. Anime, manga, novels, fanfics… they're just distractions. They don't fix anything. I need something real."
He nodded, as though he'd been expecting my answer. "Very well. I'll send you to another universe—one you're quite familiar with. And I'll even give you a gift."
I blinked in disbelief. "Another universe? A gift? You're serious?"
"Quite," he replied, his tone unwavering. "Now, tell me… do you want to go as yourself, or would you prefer a new identity?"
I hesitated, the weight of my past bearing down on me. "I don't want to be me anymore," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "My name… it's nothing more than a curse."
He studied me for a moment, then smiled. "As you wish. Farewell, Ben Tennyson."
Before I could process his words, he closed his stopwatch, and the world around me dissolved into a blinding light.
…
Flashback glitch ends.
…
"My name is Ben Tennyson," I said, my voice steady as I faced the middle-aged man across the interrogation table.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Well, Ben, my name is Phil Coulson," he replied, his tone measured but curious. The game had begun.
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