Incident

Bloomfield Hills High School

Michigan

February 8, 2025

Another day, another problem, the old saying goes. It usually seems like just someone complaining about life. Today, however, it's about the situation I'm stuck in. Imagine going to school, slaving away behind a desk, only to be burdened with homework, only for a lunatic with mental issues to start another shootout. But that's not the end of it—

"OMG!" Startled, I turned to see what the commotion was about, only to find the lunatic pointing and taunting with a gun at a girl. Who is this girl, you might ask? And why is she important? Well, she's my sister… Liora. Without a second thought, I grabbed a chair from the floor and slammed it onto his head, then immediately opened the escape door.

"EVERYBODY RUN!" I shouted, my voice piercing through the chaos as my classmates pushed past each other in a frantic scramble to escape.

"Liora, they've blocked the escape door! Use the regular entrance to get out," I instructed urgently.

"No, brother, please come with me!" she pleaded, panic evident in her voice. Despite her resistance, I forced her out and slammed the door shut.

"Liora," I said softly, a tear slipping down my cheek. "You'll understand eventually." I turned around and shut the blinds, leaving her behind, her shouts and sobs fading as the footsteps retreated.

As the last two people waited to get through the escape door, I scribbled a note, begging them to give it to my sister or family members outside when they eventually got ready to leave. I reminded them to lock the latch from within. When I heard the latch click, I locked it from the outside.

Here I am, sacrificing myself for a bunch of strangers, just a night after mocking a movie character for doing the same. Seems karma really is a bitch.

Before I could move, I felt it: a nozzle pressed against the back of my head, the heat of the barrel causing me discomfort.

Heh… this is my last hurrah; might as well go out in style, I thought, managing a weak smile.

"Hey, buddy, could you move that thing? I'm not gay," I joked awkwardly. You might find this strange, but when I'm under pressure, I make jokes.

Unexpectedly, he decided to talk. I thought he'd have fired the bullet through my skull by now.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BADLY YOU MESSED UP MY PLANS?!" he shouted, sounding furious.

"Plans? Buddy, did you have a date? Don't take it to heart; I'll make compensation," I replied.

"Y-you, do you think this is a joke? I'll blow y-!"

"Buddy, old pal, didn't I say I wasn't gay? No need to be so forceful, or I'll call the cops. The nerve of some people." Little did he know, I was stalling for time.

Oh, looks like my saviors are here!

"DROP THE GUN!" the police commanded in unison.

Startled, my captor jerked around and grabbed me in a headlock. I started sweating. Am I going to die? OMG, HOLY SHIT.

"IF YOU GUYS MAKE A MOVE, I'LL END HIM!" shouted Samuel Little (a pseudonym inspired by a notorious killer).

And they did move—saviors, my ass. They should've shot him.

"Pfft." The gun, which looked like an AR-15, fired and went through my neck.

Immediately, a barrage of gunfire erupted, targeting Samuel Little as I collapsed on the ground.

Dazed, I looked around the history classroom, bright and organized. The walls were adorned with maps of the United States, historical posters, and a timeline of key events. Desks were neatly arranged in rows facing a whiteboard or smartboard at the front of the room.

An American flag was prominently displayed. A bookshelf held textbooks and historical books, and there was a small reading area with comfortable chairs.

Posters featured important historical figures and key documents like the Declaration of Independence. Interactive tools like a globe and digital map, along with a bulletin board for student projects, completed the room's setup.

Realizing how much I hated this class and ended up dying here leaves a bitter taste, though not as much as the blood.

"CALL A MEDIC!" I heard an officer shout, but it was too late for me.

As I began to feel sleepy—just like they say when dying, right? Maybe movies aren't exaggerated after all.

"Hey, hey, son, wake up. Don't go to sleep; we'll get you help, okay? So hold on tight, just fight the sleep. Remember, you have a family to go home to," said a compassionate officer. Hopefully, he doesn't meet misfortune.

I couldn't even form words or move. I felt paralyzed; well, I did get shot where my spine is located.

Maybe the next life will be fruitful, I thought as my eyes began to close, a smile forming on my face.

Forks, Washington

Opening my eyes, I was greeted by a display reminiscent of a protagonist's system from a fanfic or novel, leaving me in shock.

=========================

| Name: Jaxon Gale

| Location: Twilight: Forks, Washington

| Race: God

| Title: God of the Sky, Thunder, and Lightning

| Information: Body: Unaging, immortal, and immune due to lightning cleansing. As the God of the Sky, Thunder, and Lightning, you are not merely a king or guide of lightning—you are the very essence and force of lightning itself, embodying its raw power and commanding its might.

| Warning: You have the power to grant immortality, unaging, and divinity. You control who receives these abilities. This is just an introduction; the system will be terminated after you press complete.

| Interaction: Completed? [Y/N]

My god, is this real? So transmigration is real? I thought I'd meet some bullshit person who grants abilities.

I hesitated for a moment, then pressed [Y]. The screen vanished, and I felt a rush of new energy flow through me, as if being rebuilt, only to black out.

"Jaxon Gale!"

The sharp shout snapped me awake. Blinking, I looked around the ordinary English classroom. Desks were arranged neatly in rows, and posters about literature and grammar adorned the walls. The room was filled with muffled giggles and whispers from my classmates.

Turning my head to see who had called my name, I was startled to find Mr. Berty standing at the front of the room. He looked like a character straight out of Twilight, with a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

"If my lecture is boring, then you can leave," Mr. Berty said, his tone a mix of exasperation and sternness. "But to sleep in my class? The nerve!"

I blinked, trying to shake off the disorientation, and looked at Mr. Berty with a mix of irritation and feigned innocence. "What do you mean, Mr. Berty? I was just closing my eyes. No need to shout at me—my eyes have been in pain all day," I said, attempting to sound as casual as possible.

My attempt at deflecting caused an immediate uproar of laughter from my classmates. Some were snickering behind their hands, while others were outright chuckling at my excuse.

Mr. Berty's expression shifted from annoyance to a bemused frown. "Well, Jaxon, if your eyes are hurting, perhaps you should see an eye doctor. But for now, I suggest you pay attention to the lesson."

I shrugged, trying to look casual as I attempted to reorganize my desk. The laughter from my peers continued to echo in the background, and I couldn't help but feel a bit sheepish. I took my seat, trying to ignore the smirks and whispers around me as I focused on Mr. Berty's lecture.