Please, don’t die.

You know those days when you wake up and don't want to leave your bed due to personal problems, fatigue, lack of motivation, or simply laziness? Well, our dear James Thompson experiences that every day. But like any responsible adult, he swallows his desire to stay home and rest, and instead begins his daily routine.

However, today is different. Much more than other days, James Thompson cannot afford to miss work. After encountering the Yellow Draft Notebook unexpectedly at the Labor Guidance Department, he nearly had a heart attack. And to make matters worse, he read the nonsense he had written about his coworker, Larry.

So, things unfolded somewhat like this: James rushed home, leaving the Yellow Draft Notebook in his work locker. Larry didn't notice the return trip, nor did he notice the odd couple on public transportation—seemingly filming while doing something inappropriate—amidst the tired and sweaty commuters.

Upon arriving home, James climbed each of the steps to the Sixteenth floor. James didn't know how many steps he was ascending; he had never counted before. But this time, each step climbed was a chance to be closer to a death sentence he didn't want to face.

On the sixteenth floor, sweaty, tired, and smelling unpleasant, James stood in front of his own door for nearly fifteen minutes, refusing to open it and step into his own apartment. Perhaps he feared finding the notebook in his room, or maybe he contemplated returning to work to prevent someone from taking the notebook and writing more absurd things about others. After all, it was quite common for some work colleagues to be quite adept at opening other people's lockers and taking something away.

During this period James did not notice that a neighbor who lived four apartments away from his was watching him with the door ajar, judging him for dark deeds that James had never done before; "You fucking pervert, I bet this unfortunate person must be the guy who goes around, going up and down between the floors to masturbate and dirty the apartment doors with his own semen. It's definitely that perverted pig son of a bitch…"

After a while, James inserted the keys into the door lock and turned them slowly.

The door swung open, and the hallway light spilled into the apartment through the gap. In that narrow beam of light, James could already see the Yellow Draft Notebook resting on one of the countertops.

James trembled violently; his body shook as if he were enduring the coldest chill of his life. And the best part? The neighbor, glimpsing only part of James's figure, assumed he was truly engaged in… well, you know, "beating the meat," "spanking the monkey," "peeling the banana," or engaging in a solo performance of "five against one."

James stepped into the apartment, his spirit defeated. After a few paces, he stood before the Yellow Draft Notebook. He said nothing, but tears of pure sadness streamed down his round face. Damn it, the last time James shed these kinds of tears was when he missed out on the 10-year promotion. If an employee worked every single day without a single absence for ten consecutive years, they would receive a 10% salary increase.

This promotion was known as the "10 per 10." Poor, poor James. On the last day of work to fulfill the ten-year attendance goal, the son of a bitch bus driver James was riding with discovered his wife's infidelity. It turned out that none of the four children the couple had were the driver's, and to make matters worse, none of the kids shared the same father. While the driver was out there "RIDING his bus" during his work hours, his wife was busy "RIDING other things". HAHAHAH.

Anyway, that swine of a driver accelerated the bus as it approached the road along the docks, and he plunged the bus—with all the passengers—into the foul-smelling seawater. Poor James got quite banged up, but he fought like an invincible warrior against the waves and the pain.

After James emerged, exhausted, alongside other survivors who weren't part of the unfortunate group trapped inside the submerged bus, he was determined to make it to work. Perhaps he could still succeed… Well, if not for the police officers who witnessed the crazy driver's act and then they detained all the survivors, regardless of their injuries, and forced them to the police station to give statements. Sure, some people died from internal bleeding due to injuries that harmed their organs, but that happened hours after their personal testimonies. At least these poor souls did their civic duty by recounting what had occurred.

But let's return to our poor hero, James Thompson, who stood there crying like a little girl, staring at the Yellow Draft Notebook. There was nothing more he could do. Well, he had tried to throw the damn notebook from the sixteenth floor, only to find the wretched thing back on his bed, as if inviting him to sleep. James had attempted to burn the notebook, but after a ghostly vision of the flames refusing to touch it and the damn thing turning to ashes only to reappear in his locker, James—despite occasionally acting like a fool—wasn't a stubborn idiot. He understood that getting rid of that thing wouldn't be so easy.

James wiped the tears from his face, and a glimmer in his eyes—a dull determination he often displayed when refusing to miss work—appeared.

"If I can't get rid of you, I can prevent you from hurting people. Larry, please don't die."

Now, whether James will succeed in preventing what's about to happen in three days remains to be seen. And James Thompson is known for being a truly determined man.

Poor, poor James…