Even though he'd seen many astonishing things in his life, this was something completely new to him. A message suddenly appeared before his eyes—as if it had come straight from one of Elon Musk's chips. When he swept his hand toward the message, it simply passed through.
It reminded him of an old game, SOMA—the story of a man who wakes up as a machine after death.
"Did someone just take my brain out of my shattered body or what?"
He couldn't make sense of what was happening. Even a fool would realize this wasn't hell. It felt as if he were trapped inside a movie or a game. Perhaps he'd somehow been caught up in one of the deep state's experiments.
He frowned. Although the noose around his neck was gone, his clothes and his exhausted face remained. What he'd experienced had pushed him into the depths of despair, making him long for an end. And yet now, he found himself reduced to nothing more than a plaything in someone else's hands. He couldn't decide which was worse—continuing his miserable life or becoming a lab rat in this experiment.
"Not even in death can I find peace, damn it."
Lost in these thoughts, the text in front of him suddenly changed:
IIIIIIIII
Mission: Survive
Condition: Do not touch the door
Reward: 1000 Points
Penalty: -1000 Points
IIIIIIIII
Seeing those words, he furrowed his brows.
"So you really tossed me into some shitty game, huh?"
He didn't like being someone's puppet.
He started laughing, but after a few seconds his laughter died away, and with a weary expression he shouted, "Hey! Can you hear me?!" His eyes darted around the empty room. In a space this barren, the only ones who could possibly hear him were the insects crawling along the wooden walls. Even so, he continued shouting, "I'm really tired, guys! I'm too exhausted to play this game. Just let me die in peace!"
"Arda?"
Amid his shouting, a voice suddenly emerged. Standing at the entrance was a man—appearing to be in his early thirties, with a scruffy beard and black hair. With a look of concern, he asked, "Are you alright?"
In that instant, memories flooded Arda's mind. This man… was his father. Yet something felt off. This wasn't the father who had fired him from work—it was someone else. And besides, a man in his early thirties couldn't really be his father; he'd have had to become a dad at around twelve. Still, as Arda looked at him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this man was indeed his father—a feeling he couldn't explain.
"I-I'm fine, Dad," he replied almost automatically, as if the answer were preordained.
Even so, the man's worried gaze didn't waver. "Alright then… come to the living room. I need to talk to you all."
Then the man left.
After he departed, Arda managed to gather himself. He held his head and wondered:
"What the hell did they do to me? Why do I see that man as my father? What kind of experiment is this?"
Under different circumstances, he might have found all this fascinating. But right now, he was too exhausted to deal with such uncertainty. Still, he had no choice but to go inside—there was nothing else he could do. For now, he decided to play along with the game.
After all, it wasn't entirely all bad. In the days when he cared about nothing, his only escape was video games. They made him forget all the stress and rules of life. No matter how terrible his day had been, when he sat down at his computer he could forget everything. Now, he felt something similar. He couldn't say he was enjoying himself, but at least he felt like he could take one small step forward.
Following his "father's" instructions, he left the room and entered the living room. The walk wasn't long—this was clearly a small cabin. As soon as he stepped out of the previous room, he found himself in the living area. Unlike the earlier room, this one was furnished. Various tools hung on the shelves, and boxes of unknown contents were stacked in a corner. A chainsaw leaned against the wall, and judging by the sawdust around it, it had been used to cut wood.
In the living room stood his "father" and a little girl. The girl looked to be about twelve, with short black hair falling over her shoulders. With her sleeveless dress and green eyes, she appeared sweet—but she was staring at her father with a worried expression.
When Arda looked at her, a sense of familiarity washed over him again. This little girl… was his sister. But, as before, she wasn't really his sister—he simply felt that way. Deep down, he knew he didn't actually know her. Strangely enough, he even knew her name: Annie.
"Now that your brother's here, I'm off," the man said.
The girl's worry deepened. "No, Dad! Don't leave us!" She clung to him and turned her little face upward, pleading like a lost puppy.
With a gentle smile, the man began stroking her head. Then he carefully pushed her away from his embrace and bent down to meet her eyes. "Annie, don't worry. When has your father ever broken a promise? I'll be back."
"But…" the girl said hesitantly.
"I have to go, Annie. Your mother is waiting for me. I need to fetch her and bring her back. Don't you want to see her?"
Annie lowered her head, her tired eyes fixed on the worn wooden floor. "I do want to, but… okay, fine. Fine, Dad. I'll wait."
The man smiled again, patted her head, and then stood up. He walked toward the door and turned so that Arda and Annie could see him. "Remember, after I leave, do not open the door for anyone."
Arda furrowed his brow—it all felt like a scene straight out of a movie. He struggled to understand the situation.
The man continued, "No matter who they are or what situation they're in, do not open the door."
Arda grew even more perplexed. He looked around. The cabin's windows were curtained, so nothing could be seen outside. Judging by the faint light, it was clearly nighttime—at the very least, pitch black outside. Since this was a cabin, it was likely far from the city. Who would come to a place like this at such an hour? And why was the man so insistent on this warning? Sure, Annie was just a child—it made sense to warn little ones not to open the door to strangers. But Arda wasn't a child. He was a young man in his early twenties. Were such simple precautions really necessary?
"No matter what they tell you, don't believe them. Just wait for me. I'll be back in the morning. Until then, do not—absolutely do not—open the door for anyone."
At these final words, Arda couldn't hold back any longer. "Why? Why shouldn't we open the door?"
At his question, Annie glanced sideways at him. Moments ago, her face had been sorrowful, but now her brows were furrowed in confusion.
The father seemed taken aback by her question. He fumbled for words for a few seconds—as if he wanted to explain but couldn't. Then, with resignation, he sighed, "Just… can you trust your father? I'll explain everything in the morning."
Arda furrowed his brows as he tried to process everything. Despite the oddities, he felt a closeness to this man—as if he really were his father—and somehow he found himself inclined to trust him. Yet a strange dissatisfaction gnawed at him.
"Please, answer me, Arda. I need to hear you confirm," the man urged anxiously.
Reluctantly, Arda nodded. "Alright… I won't open the door."
At least, most likely.
The man smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Arda. Thank you…" Then he turned and opened the cabin's door. Beyond it lay a pitch-dark forest—it was clear they were deep in the middle of nowhere.
Before leaving, he glanced back as if to say more, but after a brief hesitation, he closed the door and departed.
For a few moments, silence filled the room. Annie continued to stare at the door, while Arda wasn't sure what to do with this little girl. His shattered life now continued in this strange place—he didn't know what was real anymore. And yet, he was curious. He wondered what was happening here and where he was supposed to go. So, he resolved to get involved.
He looked back at the screen displaying his mission: survive. The condition was not to touch the door.
He fixed his gaze on the door through which his father had left. Like everything else in the cabin, the door was dilapidated; he could probably kick it open himself.
This must be the door mentioned in the mission.
He didn't know why he wasn't supposed to touch it—or what losing 1000 points if he did meant. But for now, he would play by the rules. He wouldn't touch the door.
The mission was about survival. In other words, something that would threaten his life was lurking behind that door. He remembered his father's words: no matter who comes, do not open the door… Whatever danger lay behind it would jeopardize his life. And if it were a person, they might break the door easily; if it were an animal—a bear, perhaps—it might tear the cabin apart. How could that door possibly protect them?
"Bro," Annie called, snapping Arda out of his thoughts.
The little girl was still staring at the door. "Dad will come back, right?" her voice was filled with sorrow, stirring a protective instinct in him. He felt compelled to say whatever it took to comfort her.
Arda had two younger sisters, and before he met Selin, he'd spent most of his days at home playing with his siblings. Their cheerful laughter and childish games—though sometimes annoying—brought him joy. Now, the sight of this little girl made him feel like she was his sister, softening his hardened heart.
Stepping forward, Arda patted her shoulder. "He'll be back. Dad just had some business to take care of. He'll sort it out and be back soon."
Then he looked down, noticing the sorrow etched on her face—it pierced his heart. In the past, when he'd given up on everything, his heart had died. But now it stirred once again, fueled by a protective instinct. A smile spread across his face as he chuckled, "Come on, cheer up. Do you really want Mom to see you crying like this? Smile a little."
The girl continued to pout.
Seeing that nothing was working, Arda bent down and suddenly began tickling her. "If you don't laugh, I'll make you laugh!"
The girl burst into laughter as he tickled her tummy. "Ahaha! Okay! Okaaaay! Ahaha! I—I'll laugh—Ahahaha!" She laughed until tears streamed down her face.
Arda stopped tickling her. "Alright. As long as you behave."
After a few more seconds, her laughter subsided, though a small smile lingered as she wiped away the tears at the corners of her eyes.
Seeing her calm, Arda felt a sudden warmth inside—but then, moments later, his expression turned grim.
What the hell am I doing? he thought.
He couldn't understand why he'd grown so affectionate. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he looked at the sweet little girl before him. He didn't know what was going to happen here, but it seemed that whatever danger was coming might also hurt her. They were here to survive, and in this cramped cabin, anything that threatened his life could easily harm this little girl too.
That thought filled him with anger. Already brimming with negative energy from the forces that had driven him toward suicide, he now felt the urge to vent that energy.
His eyes fell on the chainsaw in the back, and he walked toward it. He had never used a machine like this before—in the city, he'd never even seen one up close. Only those who worked with such tools were familiar with them. In the movies, he'd seen that these devices had a pull cord; you just pull it to start, right?
He examined the chainsaw closely.
This… looked simpler in the movies.
Up close, he realized it wasn't as simple as pulling a cord. Yes, it had a cord, but there were also many buttons. Normally, he'd use it to protect himself—and more importantly, Annie—from whatever might be coming. But right now, that didn't seem very feasible. He didn't want to tamper with it either, because he wasn't sure what might happen. After all, this thing was motorized. Even if he accidentally started it, he wouldn't know how to stop it. He didn't want to damage the cabin or waste its fuel—either outcome would be problematic, especially with a curious little girl by his side.
"What are you looking at, bro?" Annie asked as she came over.
"Ah, nothing," Arda replied, not expecting her question.
Annie's eyes wandered back to the chainsaw. "Ah, it's Dad's old chainsaw. He tossed it here because it was broken." Turning to Arda, she added, "What are you going to do with it, bro? Are you going to fix it? Are you a mechanic? But you can't even tighten a bolt, can you? How are you going to do it? Or are you just going to break it even more? Dad might get mad. I say, don't touch it at all, bro."
The girl suddenly rattled off a string of words—her tongue practically loosened. Even though her words stung a bit, Arda wasn't upset. The fact that she could speak so freely showed that she was at ease, and that made him happy.
"Haha, you're right. I forgot." Then, with a mischievous grin, he began tickling her again. "But who gave you permission to talk to your brother like that, you little brat!"
"Ahahaha! Stop, stop! Okay! I'm sorry!"
…
Arda continued to joke with Annie and explore the cabin. It appeared to be an old structure with just one main room and a small living area. Outside that space, there was no furniture—it seemed to be used as storage by their father. The few items in the living room consisted of some old repair tools and paint cans. Judging by how neglected everything was, the place rarely received visitors. Why would a father leave his two children in such a place in the middle of the night? And why had their mother disappeared in the first place? In fact, Arda didn't even know who his mother was or why he was here. When he asked Annie, she simply said that when she woke up, their father had carried her here. In short, she knew nothing.
It had been about an hour since their father left. Annie had settled in a corner, playing alone with some cans and repair tools. At first, Arda had worried she might hurt herself with them and had intervened, but when he realized none of the items were sharp, he left her be. After all, as far as he knew from his own siblings, a child with nothing to do was the most dangerous—a meddler who might complain endlessly and even open the door to wander into the forest.
During that hour, Arda's mind kept wandering. Sometimes he thought, "What the hell am I doing here?" Memories of his past, his regrets, and his sorrows flooded his mind. He even considered starting up the electric saw over there and cutting off his own head. But then his thoughts turned to Annie. He couldn't bear the idea of leaving this little girl alone here. Even if he were to kill himself, it would happen right in front of her—and that would be a huge shock. She might even be so frightened that she'd end up opening the door.
He didn't know what was happening. Was he trapped in a game? Part of an experiment? Or had he truly died and ended up in the afterlife? Perhaps it was all just a dream. Maybe during his fall he had collided with something soft and slipped into a coma.
His gaze drifted to the little girl in the corner, who was playing on her own. She had turned a screwdriver into a makeshift tool and was using a pair of pliers as a car. Immersed in the game she'd invented, her face was lit up with joy.
Watching her, Arda smiled.
Even if this girl isn't real, I don't want her to be sad, he thought.
He wasn't sure why he felt this way—perhaps he'd come to care for her, or maybe it was just a protective instinct. Or maybe it was simply because no one else in his life cared for him anymore. He understood enough about human nature to realize that the reason he cared for her might be because she needed him. Right now, this vulnerable little girl was the only one in her world who needed him—and that need made him feel a little more valuable.
Knock, knock, knock.
Lost in these thoughts, he was startled by a sound—a sound he both feared and had been expecting. He turned his gaze toward the door, the source of the noise.
It had finally come: the very thing his father had warned should never be allowed in.
Annie stood up.
Knock, knock, knock.
The door was knocked on again, the tone steady—not too low, not too high.
"Who's there?" Annie called out.
At her call, Arda was shocked.
What the hell is going on here!?
He hadn't expected her to answer the door—after all, their father had warned them in detail.
From the other side, a calm voice said, "Good evening, little girl." It sounded like the voice of an elderly woman.
"Go-o- good evening," Annie replied.
Quietly, Arda shouted, "Annie…!"
Annie turned to him with a panicked expression. "Why are you answering…!?"
Then she glanced between the door and Arda. "I—I don't know. I was just curious."
Curiosity—the greatest poison of a child.
No matter what misfortune befalls them, it always starts with their curiosity.
Because of it, they drink the medicine from their mothers' drawers.
Because of it, they stick their hands into electrical outlets.
Because of it, they open the doors of moving cars.
Curiosity is like a trial in an otherwise smooth life.
And now, one of those trials was unfolding—at the worst possible time.