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01: Prologue [01]

—

“Life is a bitch.” said he who had experienced the bad end of life.




Indeed, life was a bitch; that much Warren Dyson could vouch for.




One moment, you’d be happy, thinking that everything would go smoothly, and the next moment, something so unexpected, something so fucked up, and something so far from your imagination would happen, that’d change your life forever.




Warren, personally, titled those moments as ‘The Fuckening’.




Yes, he had experienced these moments enough to give it a name. Rather than experienced though, maybe, saying suffering would be a better way to put it.




Warren was an average twenty-six-year-old young man. In this world, he knew many had gone through hell, and those people might call him presumptuous for claiming life was a bitch. However, only he knew that life had not been fair to him, at all.




But even after leading such a life, Warren would dub today as the most unfair day of his life.




Warren lied on the floor stiffly, with a smell so disgusting coming out of him that any normal person would vomit after just a single whiff.




There were tissues scattered about in the dimly lit room, tissues he’d used to do something he was not-so-proud of.




A single big TV was a bit farther away from him, and he was almost naked if you took his boxers out of account.




There was nothing special going on, he’d just finished watching the latest release of his favorite TV show. Warren wasn’t really happy about how it ended, but he could only sigh and make his hand wander about to find the remote of the TV.




“For fuck’s sake where is it!” he grumbled, standing up a bit before aggressively picking up the remote. His other hand moved to the bottle of alcohol, and he quickly started gulping it down as his throat burned slightly.




He changed the channels while drinking his sorrows. There was nothing special airing; just the same old. heroes this, heroes that. Captain America this, Avengers that. Oh, Iron Man sacrificed himself to save them, they’d be dead without heroes. He scoffed.




Warren would spit on their faces, but he didn’t want to sully the TV he’d bought after a lot of… hard work.




As he slammed the next button, again and again, a particular face caught his eye, and he choked on his beverage. With slightly hazy eyes and a drunken mind, Warren moved back to the channel and silently heard the news.




There were many pictures present, supposedly of a gang, but there was one particular picture he stared at.




-“A young woman named Lilly Dyson has been found dead in a gang’s hideout. Research says her kidnapping was reported back in 2016 but she wasn’t found even after a lot of investigations and the case was closed.




The recent check-ups of her body tell that she’d been used by the gang members in explicit ways for years. Her body wasn’t recognizable when the NYPD found her, unconscious with other women in a prison cell located in the basement of the hideout. Through multiple tests, her identity has been found, and it is being announced that if any of her relatives is listening, please come and collect the body…”-




The news kept airing, but Warren couldn’t hear anything. His gaze was fixed on her picture. Not the unrecognizable one, but a picture he could recognize just beside the unrecognizable one, a picture from years ago.




“Ha… haha,”




A nervous chuckle.




“Hahahahaha!”




…That broke down into a burst of terrific, mocking laughter.




His eyes quickly lost their luster, and he just stared at the screen blankly.




As the laugh died down on his throat, a sigh left his lips. He muttered an ‘I’m sorry’ and stood up, walking out of his apartment and into New York City.




“I’m sorry,” he muttered again, walking down the streets and into the busy road, ignoring the weird looks the people were giving him since he was practically naked.




“I’m sorry,” he murmured, hearing a loud screech. Something had apparently struck a car. Warren glanced to the side and chuckled as he saw a one-eyed big monster straight out of horror movies. Chuckling like that, he walked towards it.




There was one particular man fighting the monster.




‘Huh?’




Warren squinted his eyes slightly.




Wasn't it that Doctor Strange guy who's fighting the monster?




'Wow. A hero.'




Warren chuckled weirdly, slowly dragging himself towards the fight.




He wanted to die today; end it all. But a normal suicide was too cliché, so why not make it a bit more interesting?




He made his way towards the monster.




Doctor Strange yelled at him, waving his hand—Warren knew that gesture; he was going to portal him out. Warren didn’t want that, so he moved out of the way, and under the monster.




The tentacled creature stopped for once and stared at him with its wide eyes.




Warren looked at his reflection in the big eye.




Long dirty curly black hair. Dull hazel eyes. Unkempt beard. And his weirdly contorted face. Looking at himself like this, Warren opened his mouth.




“I’m sorry,” he said once again, seeing a tentacle coming down on him.




Ah. What a glorious way to die.

*

The sky was clear, the air a bit cold, and silence littered the place even as people were all around. It was a funeral.




Warren Dyson had wide, confused eyes as he took in a startled breath.




'What?'




'Where is this?'




Questions filled his head, questions he found no answer to—until at one moment, thoughts paused in his head when he noticed… one of them present in this funeral.




Warren Dyson had seen that man on the news just a while ago, responsible for his sister’s misery. He was one of those gang members. Even though Warren’s attention had been on his sister’s picture, he’d still glimpsed at her captors. He was who used his sister and killed her. This man. This bastard.




‘What's happening?’




Warren gazed around, sweeping glances at different kinds of people, the silent, yet sorrowful environment, the birds sitting atop the trees, his grandfather and grandmother just beside him, and a pastor preaching.




This looked… like his girlfriend's funeral? Right, 2016, that's when she died in that train accident.




Warren stared at the fat man. Was this guy present there? Were his memories flashing before his eyes right before he was about to die? So, the myth was correct?




Myth…




Memories…




But… didn't they say you couldn't move inside your memories?




So how was it that Warren was running towards that mother fucking bastard?! With his fist clenched and ready to punch his gut out?!




That guy was here, it meant he must have been the one to kidnap his sister, it meant he was the one who ruined her life…




It meant he needed to die!




Memory or not, Warren wouldn't feel so good if he didn't kill him!




Warren didn’t care. The man was old. In his late 30s, probably. With a pot belly, black eyes hidden behind the eyeglasses on his nose, a scar running along his cheek, and brown hair. He donned a businessman suit.




Even if this was nothing but imaginative, Warren wanted to kill. There was nothing on his person he could use for this, so he’d use his fists.




Adrenaline pumping, Warren ran up to the man, and jumped, throwing a solid punch.




The punch connected, throwing the man on the ground, and at the same time, the man pulled out a gun and shot it.




In the heat of the moment, Warren hadn't noticed the man slip his hand into his pocket.




So, when Warren’s fist made contact with the ugly bastard's face, a gunshot resounded.




Warren fell on his back with a painful yelp.




“Ugh! Fucker!”




The fat man stood up, cursed, and rammed Warren’s head with his foot. His boots were heavy. It was painful. Really painful. First, there was the pain coming from the bullet that had carved its way into his kidney, and then, the jolts being sent inside his brain from the heavy kicks.




Everyone around was in a panic.




Warren shrieked in pain, tears welling in his eyes as he pushed the man’s foot away before latching onto his leg, biting down as hard as he could.




T-this felt too painful for a dream…




Warren’s head was split open as another gunshot rang in the vicinity, eliciting yells of horror and panic yet again.




He fell to the ground with a thud, his eyes focused on the man with hate lacing within before losing their luster.




Warren Dyson was dead.

*

The sky was clear, the air a bit cold, and silence littered the place even as people were all around. It was a funeral.




Warren Dyson blinked, feeling pain all over his body, but it faded away at the speed of light as if it never existed.




Warren Dyson blinked again.




The world spun, his vision shaking as he looked around him in a frenzy.




"Just what in the…"




The people around the funeral turned to look at him, their eyes turning sorrowful as they gave him pitying look.




However, Warren Dyson didn't care for that. He was more caring of what the fuck was going on here?!




Soon, all thoughts paused once again when Warren's eyes caught the sight of the fat ugly bastard.




He was still there, and it didn't seem like he was punched.




Slowly Warren's eyes focused on the left side of that man's pants. A gun. He had a gun there. Fuck America, why did everyone and their mother had a gun?




…No, more importantly, why did it hurt when that gun shot him? Why did he… die for a second time? How was it possible for him to die a second time? What was going on?




'...Whatever, this just means I have a second chance to kill that bastard.'




Warren gritted his teeth, and stood silently on his spot. He waited until people stopped looking at him, and when they did, he picked up a nearby brick.




Unlike last time, he walked calmly this time, to not startle the man. It would be a bummer if he took out his gun again. No, Warren will have to control his urge for a few seconds, he can let go of his emotions a second after that.




"Hey," Warren put a hand on the man's shoulder as he turned around.




“Oh, Mr. Dyson,” the man said, feigning grief. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”




"Right? Fuck you." Warren cursed.




As the man looked at him confused, Warren's other hand came crashing into his face, with the brick held tightly, as it slammed on the man's nose with full force.




– Bam!




"FUCK YOU!"




Warren yelled aloud as the man fell down on his back, while he jumped down on him and began to thrash the brick onto his face.




The people around him, who had sad eyes until a second ago—sad eyes that didn't match at all with the sheer anger present in Warren's eyes—shouted loudly in panic and began to scramble around. All the whilst Warren kept shouting, destroying the man's face with the brick.




These people… Warren didn’t know them. Since he didn't, that meant they mustn't have known Mellissa at all. What right did they have to come here to mourn? Mellissa had no parents, no relatives, no one but him and his family; so, what the fuck were these people doing here?




Warren never liked the concept of a funeral. Not the funeral itself, but more particularly, the people who came even though they weren’t related at all. He didn’t want their sympathy.




Maybe he was just weird, but he didn’t like it one bit. So, it didn't matter to him that they were running off like scared children.




"Y-you bastard!!"




"Let go off boss!!"




Not everyone ran though. This bastard was rich, he had guards, guards who began to take out their guns and point at him—but didn't fire since it might accidentally shoot their boss, as the two of them were too close to one another.




Warren growled at them but didn't stop slamming his brick down on the bastard beneath him. He growled, he growled, and he kept destroying the man's face.




"T-this crazy freak!"




One guard finally lost it and shot his gun.




– Bang!




The sound of a gunshot.




A bullet hit Warren square in the stomach, forcing him to let go of his brick in pain as he let out a muffled scream. Buckling as he gritted his teeth, he complained in his head, just like he always did.




'I can't win like this!’




Warren stared at the men.




‘… if only they froze in their spot.'




He wished to stop time, so that he could use their own guns to shoot their guts out. A futile wish. He knew something like that wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t a super, he wasn’t a mutant, he had no powers.




Suddenly, something clicked.




The world stopped.




People who were running from all around him, birds that were flying away because of the recent gunshot, and leaves that were falling from the trees.




Everything had frozen in place. The world was washed over like oil painting, done in a purple canvas.




Everything was purple.




In fact, there was a bullet that had left the gun of one of the guards. It seemed… time had paused right before the sound could have been produced.




Confused as he was, Warren didn't wait to move away from the bullet's path. Whatever was happening, it was on his side. He was the master here.




He moved to grab a gun from one of the guards and aimed it right back at him.




Slowly, Warren took his time and shot exactly 5 rounds; each aiming at the guards who had their weapons out.




The bullets came out but were stuck in place.

Warren hesitated, frowning. Would time ever go back to normal? Perhaps he had to give some sort of command? Or maybe there is a limit-




Immediately, the world returned to normal.




– Bang!




– Bang!




– Bang!




– Bang!




– Bang!




The five bullets moved, and five bodies hit the ground simultaneously.




Warren turned around to look at the man. He was up on his feet, hand covering his nose, with his face beyond scrunched.




It was a miracle how he managed to survive after all those brick punches. Maybe he was blocking the blows by putting his hands over his face? Warren wasn't sane enough to notice.




“You fucke-”




This time, however, Warren was sane and calm enough to put this man where he belonged.




Before the man could say anything, Warren shot him in the chest. The man couldn't even scream, his breath caught in his throat, and he fell down to the ground.




Warren walked up to his dead body and started pummeling his face with his foot.




"...Fucker."




Then, he picked up the brick and started battering his face. The face caved in; Warren didn’t stop. Blood splattered; he struck. Brain matter oozed; he stuck. A dangling eyeball rolled out like an egg; he struck.




As he confirmed that the man was dead, Warren let out a loud cry.




“Wh-why are you dead already!!??” his voice cracked, the brick landing on the face again. The brain matter splattered on Warren, but he didn’t care. Tears fell down his eyes, and he curled into a ball on the ground, letting out heart-wrenching cries as he sobbed, a pool of blood on the ground.




Blood…




Oh, right. He forgot he’d been shot.




Adrenaline, huh?




‘I’m sorry,’ Warren bit his lips until he felt the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.




He thought he’d feel better after killing his sister’s kidnapper; but no, he felt nothing. Why didn’t he feel anything? He killed the man who was the cause of his sister’s suffering, so why didn’t he feel any better?




Warren didn’t want to live, he’d lost the will to do so today when he saw the TV, and now, too, there was nothing between him and his much-desired death but this ‘life flashing before death’ thing.




So, to end this nightmare, he put the gun on his temple.




“Warren!” A shrill cry made him hesitate just a little.




He looked at his grandma.




“W-What are you doing?!” she cried. “Put the gun away!”




Warren’s lips trembled.




…Just memories!




Willing himself, Warren groaned to himself and pulled the trigger, feeling really strange as the bullet made a mess of his brain and gushed out of the other side.




Warren Dyson fell limp.




Dead.

*

…The sky was clear, the air a bit cold, and silence littered the place even as people were all around. It was a funeral.




Warren Dyson had wide eyes as he stared at the world that seemed to spin in his head.




What the hell was going on?

**

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Lord_Kismet: Here you go, the first chapter has been realized. I was thinking of uploading this on Webnovel, but the readers on there are too shitty—no offense—and they tend to force writers to write what they want. I don't want that with this story. I will do what I want, so read or fuck off, I will listen to suggestions, of course, but I will not be forced to write. 

I don't want to make this another shitty novel. I will write whenever I want, so that the quality of chapters stays high. I want to plot, outline, and make this real good.

Anyways...

So, what do you thing?

I should continue, right?

Any mistakes you found?

Are you interested yet?

Is this single chapter enough for you to want more, or do I try harder?

Thanks for reading! Bye! See you in the next chapter!