# Chapter 42
A man was sitting on the floor in a studio apartment room. Cold air was rising from the floor, but he remained motionless like a statue.
Like the darkness that had settled in the space, his pitch-black, lifeless eyes wandered over the floor without focus. He kept muttering to himself like a wind-up doll.
“…I don’t want this anymore.”
Emotions that he had been suppressing spilled out incessantly. Words burst forth like a flood, filling the room without even passing through his thoughts.
“I don’t want to live like this. How long do I have to live this way? I’m too tired now… This kind of life…”
Each word he uttered swept through him like a storm. A life filled only with despair, without hope. He no longer had the courage to live like this.
“I’d rather just die…”
His voice, laden with moisture, trembled. He had reached his limit.
He burst into tears again, though he didn’t know when he had started crying. A precarious sobbing circled around him. His appearance was that of someone full of despair, as if he had no future.
What if he had run away from the beginning? He regretted his foolish self who had only harbored hope.
He recalled the day that was the source of this situation. It had been a happier day than any other.
Because he had been able to get a job as a researcher at Peace, which was his goal.
Peace was a dream company for him. To someone who had wanted to help others since childhood, Peace, an organization that served citizens and pursued goodness, was bound to be an object of admiration.
But that admiration shattered in an instant. Peace, which he believed to be absolute good, was evil. He could confidently say that no criminal could compare to Peace.
Why hadn’t he realized it? That there is no absolute good in the world. All of this was a result created by his ignorant self.
The experiments that Peace was conducting weren’t about how to make a better world, but experiments solely for selfish interests.
They were conducting experiments on superpowers. Human experiments.
“Ah…”
It was almost inappropriate to call them “they” now. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. After all, he had been part of “them” for a long time.
At first, he thought he should quit immediately. He hadn’t joined Peace to conduct such inhumane experiments. He just wanted to help others.
Although he would have to be monitored for the sake of confidentiality the moment he resigned, it was fine. If only he could get out of this disgusting place right away.
But his resolve soon had to crumble.
The moment he saw people dying from brutal experiments, he no longer had the option to escape.
All that remained was the thought that he had to help them somehow. Surely, there must have been countless others like him who had tried to escape. But the only ones left would be researchers who approved of these experiments. Despicable people who viewed them not as humans but as test subjects, without listening to their pleas for help.
If so, nothing would change for the “test subjects” in the future. They would continue to suffer in pain and struggle in despair.
But if he didn’t leave Peace, perhaps something could change. Maybe he could be of help to them. He could provide minimal assistance. That thought became the reason that kept him here.
But it didn’t take long to realize how arrogant that thought had been.
At first, things went as he had thought. When he secretly changed the administered drugs and falsified reports, there was noticeable improvement.
Seeing people gradually start to smile was enough to make him hopeful. Little did he know that the bubble would soon burst.
The casual conversations occasionally mixed with laughter gradually changed.
“I’d rather… die.”
“Please kill me… Please.”
Those who had started to sob one by one soon reached the point of saying they wanted to die.
Only then could he realize. That his actions had ultimately driven them to death. As long as the experiments continued, this was all just a dream with a pretty façade.
Despite having no ability, he had let his heart lead and ended up creating such a tragedy. Thus, he tasted unbearable disgust. Disgust directed at none other than himself.
He was pathetic for thinking things could change. He hated himself. How could someone with no power save anyone? Only now did he realize it was nothing more than meager sympathy.
But what was even more hateful was that despite having such thoughts, he lacked the courage to do what they wanted. He simply couldn’t kill them with his own hands.
In the end, all he could do was instill meaningless hope. He knew it was like blowing air into a leaky balloon, but he couldn’t stop.
If he didn’t do at least this, he felt they would really die. If they just stayed alive, there would be some way. There must surely exist a way to escape this hell somewhere.
Continuing with that thought, he had endured endlessly. He had been able to endure even while knowing he was gradually falling apart. At least until just a few weeks ago.
But that resolve was soon ruthlessly broken.
The people he had tried to protect eventually died, and in the end, even the child he cherished died.
At that moment, he finally felt even the slightest hope shatter. Since then, he had been in this state.
During the day, he worked mechanically, and at night, he surrendered to despair. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, shutting himself off from reality.
But the voices of the dead continuously came through the gaps between his fingers. The damp words of curses and the voices of those yearning for life had become a part of him and wouldn’t disappear.
“I’m sorry…”
Even today, he uttered words of apology that wouldn’t reach those who should hear them. He was sorry for not being able to save them, and felt guilty for being alive and well.
Even breathing felt like a deception. He exhaled with a choked breath and habitually scratched his hand.
Like the guilt he felt, his hands were covered with scratch marks. As the unhealed wounds were scratched, tender flesh was exposed and blood flowed. But even with blood on his nails, he didn’t stop his actions. Eventually, the blood flowed from his hand down to his wrist.
“…It hurts.”
The words were uttered unconsciously. It was a natural reaction since his hand had become a rag. But as soon as he said those words, he drew in a sharp breath. How could he say it hurt? This wasn’t even pain. Those who were experimented on must have experienced pain incomparable to this.
His scratching became more violent. He shouldn’t be in pain like this. He needed to be in more pain.
He needed to suffer enough that when he met the dead again, they might forgive him a little.
The wounds created by that thought covered his hands densely. He knew it wasn’t normal, but he couldn’t stop. Now he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t do anything other than hurt himself. Because he had seen the results he had created.
But he couldn’t run away either. If he did, he wouldn’t have the courage to face them even in the afterlife.
“I wish I could just die…”
Gloomy words flowed through his parched lips. If he died, would they forgive him? His collapsed reason made sound thinking impossible.
Falling into the abyss of despair, what he wished for was nothing but death. Death became the best option in his mind. He sincerely wanted death. He desperately wished that when the pitch-black darkness faded, the peace of death would come to him.
And so, after settling into despair, he could finally collapse into the nightmarish reality as he always had. His eyelids, laden with moisture, closed gently, and darkness filled in.
And at that moment, something strange began to happen to his body.
* * *
When he came to his senses, he found that the consciousness he thought would have disappeared had returned. How strange that consciousness could exist without a physical body.
But he hadn’t become what is commonly known as a ghost. If so, he would be wandering in the real world, but all he could see was darkness.
It was pure darkness without a single point of light, incomparable to any darkness he had seen in his life. But the darkness wasn’t frightening. Rather, like falling asleep, the darkness approached him calmly and warmly. Is death originally like this? It had a strangely familiar energy.
If this is truly death, it doesn’t seem bad. Of course, the moment of dying was so painful that he didn’t even want to imagine it.
The sensation of limbs being torn and the whole body burning was something he didn’t want to experience even if it was just for a few minutes. But of course, since he was dead, he couldn’t experience it even if he wanted to.
As if to prove he was dead, he felt no desire for sleep or food in this place.
Even being in a daze didn’t make him feel bored. It wouldn’t be bad to stay here forever.
This place seemed like the afterlife, but it was quite different from what he had imagined. In this world of nothingness, it created a strangeness as if even time had stopped.
What would happen if he stayed here forever? Would he just have to stay here? It was a thought that suddenly occurred to him.
But as soon as he had that thought, in the space filled only with darkness, a faint light began to appear in the distance. It was like a path showing him a direction. Watching the light quietly, he moved his steps slowly, as if entranced, following the light.
Then, as if sensing his presence, the light suddenly emitted a bright glow. It was a strong light that dyed his body white. Reflexively, he closed his eyes.
As he kept his eyes closed, he felt the surroundings darken again. Sensing that the light had disappeared, he opened his eyes.
But what he saw was not the pitch-black darkness, but an unfamiliar ceiling.
