Cameraman Never Dies

Min Jae sat in his sleek office, a framed family photo resting in his lap, staring at him like it had a running joke he wasn't in on. The red-haired man and blue-haired woman in the picture smiled lovingly, clutching the hands of a little red-haired boy—Min, when he still thought the world was a place where bedtime stories ended happily and cereal didn't have expiration dates.

Now, as he looked at the cheerful faces, he couldn't help but chuckle. "You really had no idea what was coming, huh?" His smile crept wider, taking on that slightly unhinged curve he'd perfected over the years. The kind of grin that made legal departments nervous.

He tilted his head, his red hair swaying to the left as he gently caressed the frame, his thumb tracing the faces of his parents. "Mom... Dad..." he whispered, eyes drifting to the panoramic city view spread out below him like an ant farm—an expensive, morally dubious ant farm.

"I finally made it big," he said, his grin growing. "Me and Jun... all our hard work... it paid off." He let out a soft, satisfied sigh. "And the people who poisoned you? Let's just say they're enjoying a vacation." He paused for effect, leaning closer to the photo as if sharing an inside joke. "A permanent vacation."

He snorted at his own line. What? Even revenge needed flair. His expression softened for a second, a flicker of something resembling nostalgia crossing his face before the mask of confidence slipped back into place. He stood and approached the glass wall, staring down at the glittering city below. It was all his now. The wealth, the power, the ability to fire people for no reason other than their shoes offended him.

Yet there was that small voice in the back of his head, the one that whispered things like, Would your parents be proud of this? and Are you really gonna wear those shoes with that suit? He ignored it, naturally. That voice hadn't helped him climb to the top, nor had it kept him from turning into someone who occasionally Googled "how to cry without messing up your hair."

"I wish you could see me now," he murmured, his voice low. "But let's face it, if you were still here, I'd probably be... I dunno, paying taxes and not running a semi-legal empire built on revenge." He sighed dramatically, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. The weight of success mixed with loss clung to him like an email from an ex titled We need to talk.

His eyes prickled with unshed tears, but Min Jae wasn't about to cry. He hadn't cried since his parents died, and he certainly wasn't going to start now, when his suit cost more than his therapist's hourly rate. Tears were for people with regrets—and he didn't have any. Well, except maybe one or two wardrobe choices.

On the small tea table beside him, a bottle of wine waited patiently, like an overeager party guest. Seo Jun, his only friend and fellow revenge enthusiast, had given him the bottle earlier. A celebration gift. The final paperwork was done; they'd secured their status as two of the wealthiest men in the country. Revenge was complete, and what better way to toast it than with an expensive Cabernet Sauvignon?

Min Jae hesitated. Wine. His parents had died because of wine, poisoned by people they trusted. He'd avoided the stuff ever since, partly out of respect for their memory and partly because he wasn't keen on drinking something that screamed, Hey, remember that time your parents got murdered?

But this bottle... it was from Jun. The one person he trusted. Surely, the universe wouldn't be that cruel. Again. Right? Right?

"Jun wouldn't poison me," Min muttered to himself. "I mean, sure, we've done some questionable things together, but we're not that dramatic." He paused, reconsidering. "Okay, we are, but still."

He grabbed the bottle and poured himself a glass, watching the dark red liquid swirl like something ominous and probably metaphorical. The wine smelled rich—black cherries, earth, tobacco... and, was that a hint of cedar? Fancy. He took a sniff, because that's what people do with wine apparently. He wasn't much of a connoisseur; his idea of fine dining involved ordering extra fries.

After inhaling deeply, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. It hit him with a burst of flavor—blackberries, plums, and something spicy, like black pepper. For a second, he thought, Wow, maybe revenge wasn't such a bad life choice after all. But then the warmth that should have been comforting twisted. His smile faded.

Wait. Why did it feel like his insides had just received an email titled You're Screwed? The warmth spread, sharp and fast, like an accidental text to your boss complaining about your boss. His heartbeat picked up, fast and heavy. The glass slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor in slow motion, staining the pristine white carpet with dramatic splatters of wine.

"Of course," Min groaned as he clutched his chest, dropping to his knees. "This would happen to me. My life's just one bad plot twist after another."

The realization hit him like a frying pan in a slapstick comedy: He'd been poisoned. Again. Because apparently, life really loved re-runs. "No way," he muttered, trying to move but finding his muscles locking up, betrayal tightening around him like that time he wore a belt three sizes too small. "It couldn't be Jun... right?"

Seo Jun. His best friend. The only person who hadn't backstabbed him yet. Unless, of course, this was Jun backstabbing him. In which case, it was impressive, really. Min groaned again, trying to process the fact that his only friend might have just turned him into a dramatic villain cliché. Great, now I'm the guy who gets betrayed by his partner.

Just then, Seo Jun burst into the room, his face a mixture of panic and confusion, like someone who'd just walked in on an unexpected live-action soap opera. He was saying something—probably an apology or something poetic—but Min couldn't hear him. His world was fading to black, like the end credits of a film no one wanted to see.

"Seo Jun... you son of a..." Min choked out, his lips curling into what could only be described as a sarcastic smirk. "If you wanted my half, you could've just asked. Good luck running this empire without me. Hope you choke on it."

His mind, once filled with spreadsheets and revenge plots, was now crammed with the fear of the unknown—like opening an email with the subject line We Need to Talk. He hated that subject line. It never meant anything good.

His pain started to ebb away as he closed his eyes, the chilling numbness overtaking the fire in his veins. There was nothing now—no sound, no feeling, no taste. Just darkness. And, in the final moments before he blacked out, memories began to flicker through his mind like the world's most awkward slideshow.

His mother's laughter, his father's smile, and that time his mother's nanny accidentally poisoned her—funny, it had been a real hit at family gatherings. His dad's death replayed itself, courtesy of a 'childhood friend' who apparently took friendship goals way too seriously. And then, of course, there was his own death. Because why not?

"Well," he thought, "this is dramatic enough for a TikTok. Maybe I should've just gone into knitting instead of world domination."

And then—nothing.

[A very dramatic death later]

Min Jae got up and sat upright, he stared blankly at the void in front of him, as if he was waiting for the next plot twist. He looked around to see that he was lying on a vast, dark, rough, and uneven plain, he touched the ground, and he could feel sand, but surprisingly, none got on his hands, defying both physics and every beach vacation he'd ever taken. There was a big blue moon on one side, and a bright white light was emerging from behind it.

Suddenly! a thick grey fog began appearing in a small cluster on the vast plain between him and the moon. Because of course, there has to be fog in an afterlife scene. He couldn't see through the fog but knew something, or someone was inside it.

Soon the grey fog dissipated, revealing a grand throne, it was made of stone and etched with patterns of gold and a shiny golden wing on each side, probably taken from Pinterest, a blue and red scarf was on the backrest, adding color to an otherwise throne, he got up and walked towards the throne.

A blue light began to shine on top of the throne, slowly descending towards the seat, as if it were about to deliver a very important PowerPoint presentation. It flashed as soon as it hit the throne, revealing a woman in a white tunic and blue hair that looked suspiciously well-conditioned for someone who lived in a foggy afterlife.

Min just had to take a glance at the figure as he immediately recognized the face of the being, who now sat on the throne, he stopped in his tracks. "Mom?" He looked at her, confused.

"No, I am not your mother" The being gave a subtle smile and tilted her head, as if to reassure him and put him at ease, "I only took her form as she is the most influential person to you in your memories." She had his mother's voice.

"Who are you?" Min was pissed at the deity for taking his mother's form to talk to him.

She paused and continued, she put her hand on her chest as she introduced herself "I am the deity of stories... And I offer you an accord"

"So?" Min masked his uneasiness with an act of bravado, "What is your offer?" He wanted to reject her out of principle, but something told him that wasn't an option in this particular customer service call.

"You have to work as someone who will record stories from the new world you are sent to."

She lifted her right hand and a small cluster of grey fog began to appear, of course, the fog, is it on clearance in the afterlife? The fog revealed a plain white mask with a smiley face on it. And she continued to speak by holding the mask forward, "So the title of the said job is... Cameraman."

"Cameraman? Like..... do I shoot movies or something" Min was now really confused, his tough acting was now faltering like a badly-fitted outfit, his initial distrust now turning into curiosity.

"As I said, record stories that are happening or create them on your own, I don't care how or what you do as long as I get the stories. Of course, I will provide you with some necessary skills needed."

"What's in it for me, doesn't that make up a one-sided offer? Even if you provide me with skills, after all, it is only for your sake." He raised an eye at her, while he was indeed curious, he could not put his trust in another being.

"No, it is not one-sided," She tried to defend herself, still with a smile, she continued, "because in the world you will be sent to... You will be born as a son of your previous life's parents." She gave a pleased smile, she knew he was never rejecting her after that.

He looked at the mask she was holding forward, the offer was too tempting to decline. "Ok tell me about the job" He admitted his defeat and proceeded to take the mask from her. "And also tell me more of the world I will be going."

"Oh, you will have plenty of time to learn of your world" She laughed and allowed him to take the white mask she was holding. "This mask will be the gate between you being the new you and you being the cameraman you," She looked at him seriously, but her smile never faded. "Keep in mind that you are also a part of the story while you are not wearing that mask."

"Now... without further ado" She waved her hand and nine scrolls made of silk appeared in front of him in three rows, with gold embroidered patterns on each edge and letters written with threads.

"Take one from each row, those are your choices for the skills I will provide you with." She laid on her throne as she said that, knowing full well that this would take a long time, this was not her first time doing it.