He felt blood pool under him. 'Its' time'
He had served his country in every way that mattered—quietly, relentlessly, and without question. And in the end, when death came for him in the form of a professional killer, he didn't run. He spent his final moments not begging or hiding, but destroying classified documents—ensuring that what needed to stay buried died with him
Nicknamed 'Stencil', for his thin, wiry frame and artistic hobby, he had successfully killed 669 terrorists, during his term in the Afghanistan War. Though he had never set foot on the battlefield, his role was no less vital. From miles away, he had ended lives with cold precision, guiding drones over hostile terrain and striking targets with unerring accuracy. Remote or not, those in uniform understood the weight of that responsibility. Within the military, drone pilots like him were respected—for their skill, their discipline, and the burden they carried in silence. He had just wrapped up his third tour and set foot on U.S. soil five days ago. The time since had been a whirlwind of reunions—laughing with old high school friends, meeting their spouses, playing polite stranger to their wide-eyed kids
They meant well, but the constant matchmaking attempts and questions about his love life wore thin. He smiled through it all, dodging inquiries with practiced ease
Still, when he watched them—his childhood friends tenderly scolding their toddlers, stealing kisses from their partners in the kitchen, speaking in shared glances and inside jokes—he felt it.
A warmth. A weight
'Wish I had a family to call my own', he thought, quietly, as the laughter of someone else's child echoed in the room
The idea of settling down with one person, building a life around another's choices and faults, had always seemed more like a gamble than a dream. From an early age, he'd seen the aftermath of broken vows and infidelity—heard too many horror stories whispered in barracks or told drunkenly over campfires in the deserts of Helmand Province. Cheating spouses. Hidden second families. Children who bore more resemblance to the mailman than the man who'd left home for war
So, he never gave anyone the chance to break his heart. His life was a carousel of casual relationships: fleeting connections, momentary warmth, never permanence. And maybe that was the real tragedy—how he wore emotional detachment like armor, never realizing it was rusting through, 'If only I wasn't so afraid to have my heart broken'
He turned to look at the corpse that lay beside him. Even through his fogging vision he committed the final kill into memory. He observed the pen sticking out of the assassin's throat. In a case of extremely good luck, he had successfully surprised the killer and somehow nicked a major blood vessel using a pen. Though the assassin did get to shoot him point blank; he died doing so. 'Stencil killed his mark with a pen. The stories that'd be told', he smiled
Death, when it finally arrived, felt almost like an old friend—quiet, inevitable, and strangely comforting. He met it without fear, at peace with the life he'd led. There would be no grieving family, no tearful goodbyes—he had come into the world alone, an orphan without blood ties, and he would leave it the same way. But he took solace in one thing: his friends, the ones who truly knew him, would remember. They would raise a glass, tell the story of his final stand, and celebrate the man who gave everything when it mattered most
———————————————————————————————————-x
Expecting to wake up with clouds under his feet or fire surrounding him, he was surprised to find emptiness envelop him, 'endless emptiness'
He expected fire. Or clouds. Choirs or screams. Something
Instead, there was nothing
Endless, consuming emptiness. A void that stretched in every direction. No up. No down. No time. No sound
He floated. Or perhaps drifted. Maybe he simply existed—weightless, directionless, nameless
At first, he screamed. His mind, still grasping at the rules of the physical world, rebelled against the silence. Then came the tears, long dried before they could ever fall. He didn't know how long he'd been there. Days? Months? A thousand years? Time was meaningless here—melting and reforming in impossible shapes
Insanity nipped at him, sharp and cold, yet that too was brief. It couldn't hold him forever
Eventually, there was acceptance. Then stillness, and finally peace
Memories began to resurface, first in fragments, then in waves. Not just the big things—the drone missions, the kill orders, the long nights staring at screens across the world from where people bled. But the small things too. Things he'd forgotten long ago
He remembered the name of the lunch lady at his middle school—Mrs. Dobbins. He had never once remembered her name while alive. He remembered the exact color of the tie he wore to junior prom: maroon with a diagonal silver stripe. He remembered the taste of his grandmother's homemade chili
Every book he'd read. Every movie he watched. Every single meal. The sound of a woman's laugh from a date he barely remembered. The crackle of radio chatter during a sandstorm in Helmand Province
And it wasn't just memories. It was everything he hadn't done that haunted him too. The children he never had. The apology he never gave to an old friend. The dog he almost adopted but didn't. The letter to his commanding officer he wrote but never sent
He remembered all the lives he took from afar, seated in a secure bunker, his fingers moving over a joystick while the drone camera painted targets in thermal shades of red and white. He remembered the delays in footage, the surreal detachment of watching people die through a grainy feed.
Time passed, nothing changed
Time passed some more
Then there has a bright flash...
A gigantic wheel appeared a few meters away. Cautious, he didn't outwardly react, but when nothing else happened he relaxed. Soon curiosity took over and he desired to spin it. Through desire alone, the wheel spun. The Wheel of Fate spun seven times and each spin granted him profound power
Spin 1, granted him, Use of Cursed Energy{Jujutsu Kaisen}
Spin 2, allowed him the Use of CHI{Avatar: The Last Airbender}
Spin 3, gave him the Sharingan{Naruto}
Spin 4, made him a Singularity{D&D}
Spin 5, presented a gift he was extremely grateful for, Family Empowerment{Adventures of Chi Chang Chung}
Spin 6, bestowed him with an Indomitable Will{DC Comics}
Spin 7, broke the limiter with Endless Development{Dragon Ball Series}
When all was said and done, the void finally released him—for something new awaited beyond the silence: Rebirth