I forced myself to meet his gaze, my eyes trembling slightly. His stare felt like a knife, dissecting me with every second that passed.
"What do you want, doctor?" I asked, my voice barely steady.
"You seemed to be in deep thought about something," he said, his tone dripping with mock concern. "Have some of your memories returned?"
This bastard. I could tell by the way he spoke, the twisted satisfaction in his voice, that I was his next target. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, as if savoring my vulnerability.
What do I tell him? What lie could buy me more time?
"If they haven't," he continued, leaning in closer, his breath stale and heavy, "and if Mr. Brandon's search doesn't yield anything, you'll be confined here for quite some time… until we find out who you really are." He smiled, not with sympathy, but with glee—as if my misfortune was his entertainment. "After all, we wouldn't want a dangerous individual wandering about unchecked, would we?"
I clenched my fists under the bed sheets, my nails digging into my palms. This sick bastard was reveling in my predicament, feeding off my fear. He enjoyed this. No doubt he'd done this to others, tormenting those who couldn't fight back. But I wasn't just anyone—I was the one who created him. I knew every vile thought that passed through his mind.
I had to think fast. A distraction. Something to get him off my back.
"I…," I started, but before I could come up with a convincing story, a blue panel suddenly appeared in front of me, glowing faintly. The words it displayed were stark, contrasting against the sterile white of the hospital room.
[Hello, User. This is the guide on how to use the system. What would you like to know? I'll answer your questions as best I can.]
I blinked, staring at the screen. A system? Here? In my novel? For a brief moment, I forgot about the threat that was right next to me.
"You were about to say something?" Dr. Chris's voice pierced through my thoughts, bringing me back to reality.
Damn it. His interruption snapped me out of my daze.
"I still don't remember anything!" I barked, louder than I intended, hoping my tone would make him back off.
Dr. Chris raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "No need to be aggressive, young man. I'm only here to help you," he said sweetly, his words sugar-coated with false kindness. I knew better. That tone of his might have fooled others, but not me. I made him. I knew the truth behind those empty words. He was a predator, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He may be the predator, but I knew how to outwit him. I needed to buy myself time.
"Could you... could you get me something to eat?" I asked, forcing politeness into my voice. "I'm really hungry."
Dr. Chris studied me for a moment, the smile never leaving his face. "Of course. I'll fetch something for you. In the meantime, I'll turn on the TV so you don't get bored. After you've eaten, we'll continue the tests."
He turned, the heels of his shoes tapping against the cold floor as he left the room. His footsteps grew fainter and fainter until I could no longer hear them. Finally, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Now that I had a moment to myself, I focused back on the glowing blue screen hovering before me—the system.
"Why have I been summoned inside my own novel?" I asked, hoping the system had answers.
[To create a better ending than the one you wrote.] The response was immediate, mechanical. [If you succeed, you will return to your world. If you fail, your entire existence will be erased.]
I froze, the pit in my stomach deepening.
[Not only will you be erased, but everything you've accomplished, everything tied to your existence, will be destroyed. This includes the world of Gaea, as it is a product of your creation.]
Gaea. The world I built, its people, its history—all of it would vanish. It wasn't just my life on the line. If I failed, Gaea would cease to exist as if it had never been created. Every character, every place, every story tied to it—gone, wiped out along with me.
"But... I gave the main characters a happy ending," I argued, desperation creeping into my voice. "I tied up their stories."
[At the cost of millions of lives,] the system replied coldly. [You killed off characters for shock value. You discarded lives simply because you were bored. You allowed millions to die for the sake of plot development.]
I couldn't respond. The weight of the system's words crashed over me, suffocating. Faces flashed in my mind—characters I'd written off because I no longer found them interesting, backstories I had twisted for entertainment, cruel fates I had inflicted simply to keep the plot moving forward. How had I become so careless, so heartless? Gaea was my world, and I had turned it into a graveyard.
[Do you have any more questions?]
I slapped myself, shaking off the guilt. This wasn't the time to dwell on my mistakes. I had to act, to fix this mess before it was too late.
"How am I supposed to do that?"
[You will be given quests. Completing these quests will reward you based on their difficulty.]
Quests? Was this some kind of game to the system?
"Do I have a stat window?" I asked.
[You will unlock it after you complete your first quest. You will also receive 10 points to allocate to your stats.]
"What's my first quest?"
There was a pause before the next message appeared.
[Dispose of Dr. Chris before he becomes a bigger threat.]
My heart pounded. Dispose of him? Did the system want me to kill him? I wasn't a killer. I had never even been in a serious fight, let alone taken someone's life. How could I kill him?
I shook my head. No, there had to be another way.
"When you say dispose, do I have to kill him?" I asked, a hint of hope creeping into my voice.
[You may handle it in any way you choose.]
I exhaled, relieved. I didn't have to kill him. Maybe I could expose him, turn him in to the authorities, or find a hero who would deal with him. There had to be another way.
But even as I thought about it, the guilt gnawed at me. I had created Dr. Chris. Every vile act he had committed, every sadistic tendency—it was my fault. How many lives had I destroyed by allowing him to exist? How many had suffered because I had thought he would make a "good villain"?
The weight of my responsibility crushed me. Could I really stop him without resorting to violence? Could I undo the damage I had caused?
I didn't know. But I had to try.