Back once again

The sound of a clock ticking filled the room. It was the only noise in the small, grimy bedroom. The walls were yellowed with age, peeling at the corners, and the window let in just enough light to show how much dust had settled on the old furniture. A bed, with sheets that hadn't been washed in months, creaked under his weight as he sat up.

He ran a hand through his messy, dark hair. He was in his early twenties, though he felt much older. His eyes, dull and lifeless, stared at the floor. His name didn't matter. Not anymore.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you think. And thinking was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Not again…" he muttered under his breath. His voice was steady, but his hands were trembling as they rested on his knees. His breathing was slow, too slow, like he was holding something back.

He stood up, almost too quickly, and paced across the room, bare feet on the cold wooden floor. His movements were jittery, restless. It is as if standing still for too long would make everything collapse. He reached for the small, cracked mirror on the wall, staring at his reflection. He looked normal—just a tired guy, with shadows under his eyes and a thin frame from skipping too many meals. But that wasn't who he was anymore.

"Doesn't matter," he whispered, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink below the mirror, knuckles turning white. "None of it matters."

"It's all pointless," he said louder now, as if trying to convince himself. "No one remembers. No one even knows. Even after death, it is never over."

As if suddenly remembering something hilarious, he burst into a maniac laughing.

His laughter was sharp and bitter, not matching his calm appearance from moments ago. After what seemed an eternity, he stopped, cut off by a gasp as his chest tightened even more. His vision blurred as he sank to the floor, back against the cold wall. His hands covered his face, trying to shut out the thoughts.

How many times had he done this? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?

Every time, it was the same. He would wake up, fight, either survive the "Game," or die trying—then wake up again, back in this filthy room. Always here. Always starting over.

He wiped at his eyes, blinking away the moisture that had built up. He hadn't cried in a long time, but that pressure was always there. Waiting.

"I thought… I thought it would end this time," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. "I thought I'd be finally free..."

But no. There was no end for him. The moment he gained his so-called "Aspects" it had trapped him. "Die to Begin," they called it. A power that gave him another chance, over and over. Except he didn't want another chance anymore. He was sick of living the same life again and again.

"I can't die," he muttered to himself, staring at his hands as if they held some kind of answer. "Even if I want to. Even if I beg for it."

He slammed a fist into the floor, not caring about the pain that shot through his hand. It was real, but it didn't matter. Nothing did. His existence had become an endless loop of survival and misery, and no one even knew. No one ever would.

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

"What's the point? What's the point in any of this?"

His chest rose and fell in deep, heavy breaths as he tried to calm himself. Tried to pull himself back together, like he had so many times before. But even the calm felt hollow now. Just a routine. Something to get him through the next hour. The next day. The next loop.

It was all the same.

And the clock just kept ticking.

He looked around the room, his eyes searching for something, anything that could distract him. He caught sight of the calendar hanging on the wall, the top corner torn off to reveal the date: July 3.

"Today," he said to himself, looking back at the clock. "It starts today. The Game. Again."

A part of him wished he could just stay in the room forever. Stay in this moment, this time, this place. But he knew it wasn't possible.

He got up from the floor, brushing the dirt off his clothes. He didn't have a choice. He never had a choice. He had to play the game not to become even more insane.

He ran his hands through his hair one last time and took a deep breath. In a desperate and final attempt to get control over his emotions, he forced his face to adopt a cold, emotionless expression. He put his mask back on. The mask he wore to protect from the insanity of eternity.

"...My sanity is slowly fading away. I must quickly find a way to die before it's too late."

It was a mantra he had been repeating to himself for years now. And he knew it wasn't just a desperate hope. It was a fact.

If he didn't find a way to end this cycle of looping, he would go mad. Once he truly lost his mind, it would be over. No more chances. He would be trapped in this eternal nightmare forever.

Slowly, he began to move. Ironically, he had no time to waste.

"Status"

A holographic screen appeared in front of him in response to his voice.

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[STATUS]

Name: ???

Coins: 0

Current Location: Floor 0

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[Aspects]

[Aspect: Die to Begin – "Live in the past. Die in the past."]

[Aspect: Master of the Game – "The victor rewrites the rules. You are the victor. You are the rules."]

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[Blessings]

[None]

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Seeing this ever so familiar screen made him feel numb. He didn't know how many times he had seen it before. Although he had lost all his coins and blessings, his aspects remained untouched.

"I should get going," he said, his voice flat and tired.

Slowly, he walked out of the dirty apartment, out onto the street. It was a normal city, with buildings and cars and people walking by. But he wasn't really seeing any of it. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the task ahead.

Lex stepped out into the street, the sun low on the horizon, casting a cold, orange light over everything. People passed by, unaware of the nightmare that would soon unfold. He didn't bother to look at their faces. He already knew what was coming.

It always started the same way—normal, peaceful, just another day. Then the Game would begin. The world would change. People would die. And Lex would be there, trying to save them, trying to do the right thing, over and over again.

He had tried so many times. He had fought, bled, and died for these people. He had become their protector, their savior. With every reset, every loop, he tried harder. He saved children from collapsing buildings, shielded families from monsters, and sacrificed his life over and over to give others a chance at survival.

But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many lives he saved, nothing changed. They were always grateful—but they never remembered him. They never knew how much he had given to them.

Lex clenched his fists as he walked. The memories of all those loops, all those sacrifices, flooded his mind. The countless lives he had saved, the faces of those he had dragged from the brink of death. And yet, every time, they moved on. They went back to their lives, found happiness, and built futures. And him?

Nothing.

There was no happiness for him. No reward. No freedom. He was always pulled back into the same endless loop, waking up in that filthy room alone. Forgotten.

It was maddening.

He had tried to ignore it at first. To keep going. To tell himself that it didn't matter if no one remembered him as long as they were safe. But each time, it gnawed at him a little more, that hollow feeling in his chest growing until it became unbearable.

"Why am I doing this?" he muttered to himself. "Why am I always the one to suffer when they live happily?"

For once, he wanted something for himself. For once, he wanted to stop pretending that this was enough.

He paused at the corner of a street, watching as people laughed and chatted, completely unaware of what was about to hit them. He had always protected them before, always rushed in to save the day. But what did he get in return?

Nothing.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. Maybe it was time for that to change.

"Just this once…" he whispered, barely audible over the sound of the city around him. "Just this once, I'll do it for me."

The thought was like a spark in his mind, igniting something deep inside him. He could stop pretending to be the hero. He didn't need to save them. Not this time.

He could be selfish. Cruel. Anything he wished.

After all, what had selflessness ever gotten him? An eternity of suffering, endless loops of saving lives that weren't even his to care about. No one ever remembered him. No one ever thanked him.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about himself. Time to collect enough coins. Time to finally die. Even if it was at their expense, didn't he give enough?

His eyes narrowed as he watched the people in the street, their carefree faces, their oblivious smiles. They didn't know the price of survival. They didn't know what it took to save a life, the cost of protecting everyone else.

Well, they were about to learn.

Lex straightened his back, his expression cold and detached as he walked into the crowd. His movements were deliberate and controlled. He no longer felt the need to hurry, no longer felt the urge to protect anyone.

Let them fend for themselves. So what if they died? Was this his problem?

"I've given enough," he muttered under his breath. "Now it's time to take."

He could hear the ticking of the clock in his mind, marking the time until the Game began. It was only a matter of minutes now before the world would change, and chaos would descend. This time, he wouldn't be running to save them. He wouldn't be the hero.

This time, he would be the one to be happy, no matter what it cost even if it meant watching them die. Even if it meant killing them himself.

As he walked, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small coin. It was a human coin, one that would soon lose all value. He turned it over in his fingers, the cold metal soothing against his skin.

"Coins can buy anything," he whispered to himself, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Even happiness. But for me… I'll settle for enough to die."

And Lex, for the first time in countless lifetimes, wasn't going to save anyone.