DATE: ????

Dear Diary,

?????

Now, instead of black, everything is white, and—wait—I'm racing with some strange, squirming tadpole-shaped things. I don't know why I'm racing, squirming, or whatever this is... but I know one thing: I have to be fast.

Even though I'm not a biology student, I know exactly what kind of situation I've landed in.

Oh no.

Yep. I'm pretty sure I'm fighting for my spot. This is not how I imagined starting my next life, but hey, life's a joke sometimes.

At least I can thank my father that I'm not inside someone's mouth... or worse—flushed down a toilet.

Suddenly, it's chaos—everyone thrashing, twisting, and flipping. There's no order, no mercy. It's like the world's most bizarre deathmatch. Bodies wiggle violently, and some slam into one another, trying to knock each other off course. The current flows hard and fast, pulling us all forward in a mad dash.

I push with everything I've got, my tiny tail flicking like a maniac. Some siblings are already falling behind, while others ride the flow, skimming dangerously close. One ambitious tadpole surges ahead of me, only to smack into a wall of goo—instant KO.

The space narrows, funnelling us into a tight channel. More of them get caught in weird eddies, spinning out helplessly. I dodge a wriggling pile-up by a hair and shoot forward.

The egg looms ahead like a glowing finish line, getting bigger with every tail flick. But I'm not alone—two other tadpoles are right on my... tail? (Yeah, let's go with that.)

The three of us are neck and neck now, slamming into each other as we get closer. I twist left, one of them slams right—and the other one darts beneath me, almost knocking me off track.

Adrenaline pumps through my tiny squiggly self. I focus, pushing harder—flick, flick, flick—until I finally find a burst of speed. (how the fuck I have adrenaline)

There it is! It's right there!

The others are inches behind me. One tadpole shoots forward, trying to steal my win at the last second. Nope. Not happening. I swerve in front of them, blocking the path.

With one final flick, I shoot ahead—tail thrashing like mad—and slam headfirst into the glowing, golf-ball-like surface.

I MADE IT.

Through sheer instinct (or panic), I latched onto one of the round, golf-ball-like structures. Without even thinking—because seriously, what else do you do as a tadpole—I started drilling into it.

(What the hell am I even doing? No clue.)

But the moment my head pierced through the surface, something changed. I felt... something clicked. It was as if I'd unlocked a door, and in an instant, I was everywhere—like my thoughts had exploded into a thousand sparks, scattered across different spaces all at once.

(Is this what it's like to be Charles Xavier? Because, damn, I feel OP right now.)

And then—BAM! Everything stilled. The chaos evaporated, and a deep calm settled over me.

It hit me: I'd won.

I'd succeeded. I'd killed all of them—every last one of my siblings.

Take that, Oppenheimer and Adolf. You thought you were ruthless? Well, I just annihilated billions.

"Now, I have become Death, the destroyer of siblings"