"What purpose does my life serve? Is it kindness to other people? Empathy? Or self-gratification?" Utterly visible through my depressed frown, my existential dread seeped through my face. "If there’s any purpose to life, then why the hell am I working myself to death for a company that pays me shit?"

  I sighed.

  Nothing ever worked out for me.

  At 40 years old, being a door-to-door salesman had taken an

  incredible toll on me. There's only so much mental torture one can

  endure after years of constant rejections, hurled insults, and

  occasional physical assault.

  The hot, humid weather didn’t help. My sweat-drenched suit clung to

  me, tight pants and leather shoes adding to the torment. The discomfort

  was so overwhelming I'd been having a constant urge to throw myself into

  the nearest canal and lay there for the rest of the hot, windless

  afternoon.

  “You look like you got run over by a truck,” said Harvey, my

  yellow-haired co-worker. At 25 years old, that boy was much younger than

  me and didn’t look as miserable as I felt—but then, who could? We were

  walking along the busy city sidewalk, heading to yet another

  neighborhood to pitch our overpriced portable vacuum product that breaks

  after three months.

  Harvey glanced at me. He always had a bright expression on his face

  that it was impossible picture him looking all mopey like I was. It’s

  like this kid never experienced depression.

  He smiled, “Put your head up, Devon. I’ll treat you to a beer after work.”

  In a faint, dejected voice, I muttered, “If you lace the beer with something deadly, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  “You need therapy.” He slapped me on the back so hard that I quickly straightened up.

  “Ow! What the hell?!” I exclaimed, rubbing the aching spot. I wanted

  to retaliate—maybe throw an equally strong slap back at him—but I didn’t

  have the energy to do so.

  “Again, therapy~” Harvey playfully said. He wasn’t entirely not

  serious, you know. He’d been telling me to see a therapist for months

  now. Apparently, exhibiting problematic ideations and having

  self-deprecating humor stopped being funny after the first few times.

  No matter how often he brought it up, my answer was always the same. I

  huffed, "I don’t need therapy. Why the hell would I pay someone

  hundreds of dollars to talk to me when I’m already broke as fuck?"

  “Ah, here we go again.”

  “What I need is money!” My voice grew excitedly. “If I could afford a

  better apartment, better food, maybe even a secondhand car, I wouldn’t

  be as depressed now, would I? But our fat-as-fuck boss takes all the

  money we make. The guy doesn’t even do shit!”

  Harvey shrugged. “I guess you’ve got a point. Everyone dreams of being rich. Even me.”

  As we approached the sidewalk, we overheard a mother shouting at her child.

  “I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO THAT! WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME?!” She

  relentlessly cursed at the young boy who didn’t even seem to evoke any

  semblance of emotion. He just stood there staring at the ground, nodding

  to her words, acting as if it was normal to him. He didn’t even look an

  age above twelve.

  “What a piece of shit mother, huh?” Harvey commented.

  I could only imagine what kind of life he has led up to this point.

  And for some reason, it gave me a sense of deja vu. A flash of memories I

  never wanted to revisit.

  “Devon?” My co-worker followed up, to which I absentmindedly said,

  “What? Yeah. Shitty parent.” I was sure the people around us thought the

  same and in spite of that, no one dared to step in.

  Suddenly, the echoing screech of tires tore through the block. A wave

  of panic followed—screams rang out as people bolted across the

  sidewalk, shoving past one another and crashing through building doors

  in a desperate rush for safety.

  I overheard some people running across the sidewalk, motioning us to

  flee. One of them ran past us shouting, "Get out of the road!"

  The screeching tire echoed again. This time sharper, angrier, before

  the deafening horn of a car blew through the entire block. When the

  vehicle came into view, it was speeding through the road barely hitting

  the illegally parked cars beside the sidewalk. It bounced over the curb,

  its back wheels lifting momentarily before slamming down with a

  shudder. Despite hitting parking meters and trash cans on its way, it

  wasn’t slowing down.

  “Oh fuck,” Harvey grabbed my arm with a firm grip. “We gotta run!”

  But I couldn’t. Time seemed to stop as my eyes landed on the

  pedestrian lane. The boy from earlier stood frozen in the middle of the

  road, staring at the car, unmoving with an expression I couldn't read.

  No one was running to pick him up. Everyone was focused on saving their

  own lives as I couldn’t find his mother amidst the block. Was I the only

  one who'd noticed him in danger?

  “T-the boy…” I stuttered, yet my words fell on deaf ears. My hands

  shivered. I clutched my leather briefcase. I wanted to run out there and

  save him, but a foreboding thought suddenly seeped into my mind:

  Nothing ever seemed to work out for me.

  And as sorry as it was, I believed that. The car was too fast that I

  was not agile enough to carry him and run to safety. I'd be too slow and

  we'll both end up killing ourselves.

  If I even attempt to save him, it's more than likely that we'll both

  die. Why would I even care about the life of a stranger? It's more

  logical for me to save myself in such a dangerous situation just like

  all the other people around me.

  But how would I live knowing that I never tried?

  My grip on the briefcase softened.

  In a somber tone, I yanked my young workmate's hand away and said,

  “Sorry, Harvey.” I dropped my briefcase, breaking the portable vacuum

  and scattering the product flyers onto the sidewalk. I sprinted as fast

  as I could to him.

  Harvey shouted, “Devon! What are you—?!"

  I ignored what was most likely the last words I'll ever hear from

  him. In one desperate second, my arms wrapped around the boy as I

  barreled forward, my shoes skidding against the asphalt. The impact from

  the car never came. Instead, momentum carried us through—past the

  painted lines of the pedestrian lane, past the edge of the road—until my

  shoulder slammed into the opposite sidewalk.

  The car’s horn was still blaring but we were finally out of the road.

  I seemed to have overestimated the speed at which the car was speeding.

  With relief heaving out of my chest, I pulled him to a nearby alleyway

  and snapped, “What the hell are you doing?! You don’t just stand in the

  middle of the road like that. You trying to die?”

  The boy didn’t answer. He just stood there on the pavement, staring

  at the ground with the same blank look on his face as before, as if this

  was just another thing happening to him. I was about to say something

  else when—

  “DEVON! GET OUT!” Harvey’s voice came from across the street, louder than the car horn which was now swerving towards me.

  There wasn’t enough time for me to move. I could only push the boy deeper into the safety of the walls in the alley.

  Then, the front of the car slammed into me and everything went wrong

  at once. My body hit the wall hard, the impact knocking the air out of

  me as the sound of metal crunching filled my now-deafening ears.

  …

  I thought I died, but it seemed like whoever divine deity above was hell-bent on making me feel what it’s like to be dying.

  Smoke was pouring out from the wrecked car beneath me. The hood was

  crushed, the engine sputtering and hissing like it was barely holding

  on.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  And below that—

  There was nothing. My lower half was gone, crushed between the car

  and the wall so much that I couldn’t even feel pain. My breath came out

  shallow and uneven. I felt cold, but I wasn’t concerned about myself. I

  looked straight at the boy who fell into his rear a short distance away.

  He was trembling, looking at me with a horrified expression. I

  regretted that it was the first emotion I had ever seen from him.

  Shit, I cursed. I didn’t mean to give this kid trauma. That thought floated through my head, but at least it was me that got hurt and not him.

  “DEVON!” Through my worsening eyes, I managed to look at Harvey one

  last time. He had ran to me, trying to get me out. I thought about the

  conversation we just had earlier—that my life would’ve been better if I

  had the money to do so. Fortunately for Harvey, he was still young.

  I mustered up the last of my energy and tapped him on the shoulder

  with my only working arm. “Hey, kid. Don’t cry,” I told him. Even I can

  see his tears through my blurry vision.

  “Come on, man. I called 911, they’ll be here soon so please hold on...” He sniffed.

  Thankfully, the damage this car had caused to me was so significant I

  didn’t feel any pain. I just felt cold but also warm at the same time.

  If I ever submitted to this nagging urge to sleep, I knew I would never

  wake up again.

  “You’re young, so… don’t fuck up your life like I did. Be rich for my sake, okay?”

  Getting those words out was relieving. As my eyes closed, my entire body immediately went weak and heavy, and just like that…

  I was gone.

  Dying wasn't as bad as I thought.

  Those would be my first words if I had a mouth.

  Is this where souls go when they're past moral redemption? Not that I've done anything irredeemably bad, though.

  I could feel myself floating in an endless expanse of nothingness,

  with no sense of vision, touch, or smell. A huskless soul, burdened to

  exist in the realm of non-existence. Whether that was a kind of

  punishment in the form of self-torment, or a reward as an escape from

  the hellish reality of my world, I wouldn't know, because I didn't have

  enough time to think before a blue two-dimensional panel materialized in

  front of me.

  [Congratulations. You have been

  invited to become part of a greater world. You may choose to accept this

  invitation with your current memories intact. Alternatively, you may

  reject this invitation and choose to reincarnate back to Earth as a

  rebirthed soul.]

  [NOTE: You cannot receive the same invitation twice. Choose wisely.]

  [ YES | NO ]

  I’d read this setup in fantasy novels more than I cared to admit.

  Normally, this was the part where the protagonist trembles in confusion,

  then excitement.

  The implications of a new world. A new identity. Maybe even magic! Anyone would be thrilled to receive such an invitation.

  I didn't care about any of that.

  I laughed. Or I tried to—though it was impossible without a mouth. What’s up with this lame-ass description? I thought, mentally mocking the so-called System that created the panel in front of me.

  If the creator of this panel wants to

  invite dead people into their world, the least they could do is make it

  sound more enticing! It’s like they’re actively trying to convince me

  to go back to Earth for a second chance!

  As my internal rant carried on, something in those words clicked for

  me. A second chance. A chance to start over again. If I had worked

  harder or had the privilege of being born into better circumstances,

  maybe I wouldn’t have suffered so much as Devon who had a pitiful life.

  But I didn’t want to go back. I wouldn't choose that option, even if

  there was an option to reincarnate as the son of a bureaucrat. It all

  came down to this one specific line I’d been nitpicking: [You may choose to accept this invitation with your current memories intact.]

  Why would I drag this rotting baggage of a soul into this new world?

  What fresh hell waited for me there that demanded I retain everything

  I've ever experienced? The prospect of an entirely unknown world

  thrilled me in ways I couldn’t describe. An excited grin formed in my

  thoughts. You make an enticing argument, System of this new world.

  Without hesitation, my ethereal hand hovered over the [YES] button. I

  already pictured how my life would be like. I would have a clean

  identity, with the chance to reestablish myself as a hero. I’d use my

  skills to pull myself up the social ladder and maybe even live a life

  without any regrets…

  But nothing happened.

  [I am sorry.]

  My heart sunk. What the fuck?

  [As you were not the intended

  recipient of this invitation, the GREED System and its moderators

  apologize for the mistake. You may get this invitation again within a

  year.]

  No. I shot my incorporeal hand out to the fading panel. Don’t you fucking leave—

  Just as I vainly reached out into the panel, it disappeared. The only source of light in this void of nothingness was now gone.

  Remember when I thought that this place was either reward or

  punishment? I came to the conclusion that it was neither. This void was

  much worse than the burning pits of hell. I was left with just the

  suffocating weight of my own thoughts, with no sense of anything that

  made me human other than my memories. I tried counting seconds, but just

  like everything in this realm, time was merely a construct.

  I was all alone. Whispers rose from my undistracted mind.

  You failed. You always fail.

  They spoke in my voice.

  Nothing will work out for you.

  Those voices grew louder, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. I tried

  answering them back. I knew I was arguing with no one but myself but I

  wanted to shut them up at any cost. The volume of their voice grew

  louder the more I tried to shut it out of my mind. I panicked. I needed

  to see something, anything, before the darkness ate me alive.

  ...

  There was a flicker of red in the distance. It was pulsing erratically, like a beacon calling out to me.

  Around me, shadows twisted into grotesque imitations of life. They

  writhed toward the light, bodies cobbled together from tendrils of some

  black essence that refused to fully take shape. Some dragged themselves

  forward with clawed hands, while others slithered like worms. They were

  all too silent, yet their faces showed muted screams of agony.

  It looked like a hunt—a grotesque race of purgatorial souls, all bound by the same maddening hunger for that red beacon.

  I lunged for it. My desperate soul crawled through the stampeding

  swarm. As I did so, my body began to take shape to some recognizable

  extent. I could see my torso form from those same shadowed tendrils, as

  if I was absorbing them from those other souls.

  I shoved those in my way, stomping them with deformed limbs against

  the shadows. Though the shadowed bodies of other souls were weightless,

  it felt like they were pressing back against me with a suffocating

  weight the more I moved into them.

  I clawed at the empty void. I could almost feel phantom arms clawing

  on my back that threatened to drag me away from it. Their fingers felt

  skeletal, impaling whatever's left of my soul, yet I ignored the threat

  and pushed my soul one last time. It hurled me at the front of the pack.

  I didn't even know what the red light was in the first place. I

  didn't care. All I knew was I wanted to take it no matter the cost.

  Mine. It's mine.

  As I reached out one final time... There it was. A glowing core of

  red light, hot and alive in my palm. Though I still had no corporeal

  body, I could feel its shape and hear its sound. Thumping like a beating

  heart.

  The shadows threatened to consume me along with this core as they

  finally caught on to me. Even though parts of what felt like my body was

  being torn apart, I shielded the glowing core with what’s left of my

  shadowed soul.

  I won't give in even if they tore me apart.

  The shadows suddenly vanished when a strong pulse emerged from the

  red core. Instead of the blue system panel from the invitation, the core

  that I was holding expanded into a red System panel with pitch black

  text. It seared into my vision. I almost cried upon seeing the light

  after what felt like days of seeing nothing but darkness.

  [Your resolve is profoundly admirable, human.]

  Get me out of here. Please. I pleaded. I'll do anything.

  It responded in turn.

  [There is something you desire which I alone may grant, just as I desire something as well. I shall present you with a choice.]

  [Do you, exiled soul, wish to leave the Purgatory of Lost Souls?]

  [ YES | NO ]

  The panel flickered with static noise, as if its very existence was unstable in this realm.

  I didn’t hesitate on my answer. I pressed [YES].

  In response, this entity presented me with a contract, displayed in a

  panel shaped like a papyrus scroll. Within it were five numbered

  clauses. I could only read the first clause, while the other four were

  written in an alien script I couldn't read and comprehend.

  This is a Soulbound Contract between The Deliverer (The Contractor) and Devon Crocus (The Recipient).

  According to all immutable laws

  written by The Primordial Deities Beyond Time, the Recipient agrees to

  unconditionally follow and obey the guidelines presented upon this

  contract. Likewise, the Contractor agrees to unconditionally provide

  their goods and/or services to the Recipient at times specified within

  these guidelines. Should these clauses by intentionally omitted by the

  Contractor, they must be revealed to the revealed to the Recipient

  before the provided service takes effect.

  The five clauses are as follows:

  

  
1. The Contractor and the Recipient are permanently Soulbound. The death of one party shall cause the obliteration of the other.


  
2. ***


  
3. ***


  
4. ***


  
5. ***


  

  It is an immutable law that this

  contract must be obeyed by both the Contractor and their Recipient. The

  violating party shall be subjected to a punishment worse than death,

  judged and overseen by the Paragon of Justice.

  I will lose something if I sign this. I understood that much. Whatever this contract was, it wasn’t free. Nothing ever was.

  I knew the risks and dangers. Signing a contract I could not read was

  reckless at best and suicidal at worst. Whatever those other clauses

  contained, they were not written for my benefit. They were written to

  bind me, to take something from me that I would never be able to get

  back. But floating in this empty, silent purgatory for all eternity was

  worse.

  Below the red papyrus contract was a signature line. I didn’t need to

  reach out to the panel nor did I ever need to speak. The moment I

  accepted the idea of signing it, the contract responded. My name etched

  itself onto the scroll.

  And just like that, I entered into a contract with this entity named “The Deliverer.”

  The scroll-panel vanished, and the void tore open into a blinding

  white light. The red panels disappeared and what greeted me were a

  flurry of the familiar, blue System panels that took away my invitation

  at the last minute.

  At that time, I was cheated into

  signing a contract with implications I never truly understood. If could

  go back in time to tell myself what it fully entailed...

  I would've chosen to endure a longer time in this purgatory.

  Author's note: Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! I hope you'll be with me throughout this journey.

  Author’s Note 2: If you’re reading this from release day, the next four chapters will release every hour until Chapter 5.