Requiem of a Sinner

The prison walls loomed tall and gray, a monument to justice—or vengeance, depending on who you asked. The man sat in his cell, wrists bound, his last meal untouched on the steel table. A guard rapped on the bars, his voice sharp and detached.

"It's time."

He rose, unbothered by the chains clinking with each step. For years, he had been untouchable a phantom in the underworld, a nightmare in the headlines. But all games come to an end.

The corridor to the execution chamber stretched endlessly, lined with solemn guards and cold fluorescent lights. At the door, a priest waited, clutching a Bible. His face was creased with age and compassion, though his hands trembled as he opened the book.

"Do you wish to repent?" the priest asked, his voice quiet but firm.

The man smirked. "Repent for what? Everything I've done is part of this world. I'm just the guy who took it further."

The priest's gaze didn't waver. "Even so, I will pray for your soul."

"Knock yourself out."

As the priest murmured ancient verses, the guards opened the chamber doors. It was sterile and cold, lit harshly by a single overhead light. The execution team stood in silent precision, their movements mechanical as they prepared the syringe.

The man was strapped to the gurney, the leather biting into his wrists and ankles. He tilted his head to look through the glass at the witnesses—a mix of reporters, officials, and families of his victims. The hate in their eyes was almost tangible.

One woman, pale and tear-streaked, pressed her face to the glass. Her voice cracked as she screamed, "You'll rot in hell!"

He met her gaze, unfazed. "Save me a seat."

---

"Any last words?" the warden asked, clipboard in hand.

The man grinned, a sharp, unsettling curve of his lips. "See you all on the other side."

The executioner activated the machine, and the lethal cocktail began its journey through the IV. The man felt the burn creeping up his arm, his vision dimming. But instead of fear, he felt relief.

Finally, it was over.

---

Or so he thought.

He woke to an expanse of pure white, stretching infinitely in all directions. He floated, weightless, his body translucent and shimmering like glass.

"What is this?" he muttered, looking around.

"Welcome, Subject 1849165927161," a voice echoed, calm and detached.

He spun, but there was no source. The voice was everywhere, yet nowhere.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"You have been selected for the *Heroic Death System*," the voice explained. "Due to your extensive crimes and the irreparable harm you caused in your lifetime, your death was deemed insufficient. You are now bound to the system."

"Bound to what? I died. Let me stay dead."

"Negative," the voice replied. "You are tasked with performing heroic sacrifices across various scenarios. Your acts of heroism will accumulate points. Once your ledger is balanced, you may achieve reincarnation or freedom."

"And if I refuse?"

"Refusal will result in unrelenting agony for a billion years."

A sharp chill ran through him. "This is some cosmic joke. I'm no hero."

"Heroism is defined by action, not identity. Your first mission awaits."

The world fractured around him, light spiraling into shards.

"Wait! What kind of missions?"

"Heroic sacrifices in diverse settings modern, medieval, fantastical, fictional, and more. You will embody roles appropriate to the scenario."

Before he could argue, reality bent and pulled him into a new world.

---

Mission 1: Save the Child

The chaos of the void gave way to a bustling subway platform. He stumbled, catching himself on a concrete pillar. Around him, commuters pushed and jostled, their faces buried in phones or conversations.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

A ding sounded in his head, and a translucent screen appeared before him:

**Mission 1: Save the Child.**

**Details: A child's life is in immediate danger. Ensure their survival.**

**Reward: 10 points.**

His eyes scanned the platform. There—near the edge. A little girl clutched a teddy bear, her face pale with fear as she looked around.

"Hey, kid!" he called, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of an approaching train.

The girl wobbled on the platform's edge, her tiny shoes slipping.

"Oh, come on," he hissed, bolting forward. The crowd barely noticed him, too absorbed in their own lives.

The train lights grew brighter. He pushed through the throng, arms outstretched.

"Move!" he shouted, diving just as the girl tipped forward.

He caught her, twisting his body to shield her as the train barreled into him. Pain exploded in his chest, and darkness consumed him.

---

When he woke, he was back in the void.

"Mission complete," the voice said. "Points awarded: 10."

He clutched his chest, expecting to feel broken ribs, but there was nothing. "That's it? Ten points? I just threw myself in front of a train!"

"Heroism is evaluated based on sacrifice and impact," the voice replied. "Prepare for your next mission."

"What's the next one?"

"Mission 2: Save the Village. Setting: Medieval Fantasy."

Before he could protest, the void shattered again. As he hurtled toward his next trial, he realized the system wasn't just punishment. It was an endless grind of death and redemption.

For the first time in his life, fear gripped him not of dying, but of what living in this system would mean.