James's voice was a soft gentle drone.
"Adam I know this is a huge shock losing your parents like this. But you have to move on from this grief. Life goes on."
Adam stared at him.
The face was the same.
The voice was the same.
The concerned expression was the same meticulously crafted mask. But all Adam could see was this man holding down his wrists while a wire cut into his throat.
He saw the cold calculation behind the feigned sympathy.
He saw a man who would trade a student's life for money.
He was shocked at how easily his teacher his homeroom teacher had killed him.
He was shocked at how effortlessly everyone seemed to be able to end his life as if he was nothing more than an insect to be crushed.
The police officer the bounty hunters his own teacher.
They were all just following orders or chasing a prize. His life was a transaction.
He didn't say a word. He turned and walked away.
"Adam?" James called after him a note of surprise in his voice.
The boy was normally so quiet and polite. He always listened respectfully even when he disagreed.
This sudden silent departure was out of character.
But the teacher's concern was fleeting and shallow. The number 100,000,000 filled his thoughts.
It was a shining beacon that overshadowed everything else. The boy's strange behavior was a minor detail. The plan was still in motion.
The moment Adam was out of the office he broke into a run. He didn't pause. He didn't look back. He sprinted down the empty hallway his footsteps echoing off the walls like gunshots.
He ran past his classroom leaving his school bag where it was. He didn't need it. He burst out of a side exit of the building and sprinted across the school grounds. He didn't go towards the front gate or the back gate.
He knew those paths led to death. He went directly at the high concrete wall that separated the school from the quiet side streets.
He reached the wall and without slowing he used his momentum to leap.
His hands found purchase on the rough top edge. He pulled himself up his muscles straining.
He swung a leg over and dropped heavily onto the pavement on the other side. He landed in a crouch and immediately scanned the street.
It was empty.
There were no police cars no unmarked vans no thugs waiting in the shadows. For the first time he was off the expected path.
Adam ran. Fear was a fuel in his veins. Questions swirled in his mind a chaotic storm with no answers. Why me? Who is doing this? What did my parents find out? But above all the fear and confusion was the raw physical memory of dying.
Again and again.
The baton to the skull. The strangulation in the field. The wire in the car. The pain was a phantom that clung to him a horror he could not shake. He could feel the ghost of the wire against his neck even as he ran.
If this keeps happening he thought as his lungs burned and his legs ached I'm going to go mad. The cycle of death and revival was tearing him apart piece by piece.
He kept running through the quiet residential streets. The houses were all neat and tidy with manicured lawns and peaceful gardens. It was a world of absolute normality a world he no longer belonged to.
Finally a familiar building came into view. It was his home. A two-story modern Japanese-style house his parents had worked so hard for. The place that was once his sanctuary.
He slowed to a stop in front of it. He was panting heavily his body exhausted his mind on high alert. A small neat garden ran alongside the path to the entrance. His mother had planted those flowers.
All that stood between him and the presumed safety of his home was the main door. A simple solid wooden structure.
He took a few deep ragged breaths trying to calm his racing heart. He scanned the street again. Nothing. He walked up the short path to the door.
Every step felt like he was walking on broken glass. He reached into his pocket his fingers fumbling for his house key. He pulled it out. The metal was cool against his sweaty palm.
He inserted it into the lock and turned it. The lock clicked open with a familiar metallic sound. A sound of safety. A sound of home. It was a lie.
Adam grabbed the handle and pulled the door outward.
As the door swung open his eyes caught something. His mind sharpened by repeated death noticed the detail instantly.
A thin almost invisible wire was tied to the interior handle. It stretched taut as the door moved. It led from the handle to the doorframe. A tripwire.
He froze for a fraction of a second his hand still on the handle. But it was too late. He had already pulled the door fully open. The wire had already done its job.
Click.
The sound was small almost insignificant. A tiny mechanical noise. It came from inside the dark doorway. Adam looked up from the wire. His gaze followed it into the darkness.
A tiny red flame no bigger than a matchstick head ignited in the black space of the entryway. It wasn't just a flame. It was a fuse and it was racing towards something.
Time seemed to stop. The red line of fire rushed towards him. It was a beautiful and terrible thing.
A wave of intense heat and light erupted from the doorway. The explosion was deafening. It was a monstrous roar that tore the front of the house apart.
The wooden door disintegrated into a million splinters.
The shockwave lifted Adam off his feet and threw him backward. He was engulfed in a torrent of fire. The pain was immediate absolute and all-consuming. It was a thousand times worse than anything before.
He died before his body hit the ground.
Darkness. Absolute and silent. A welcome relief.
[HOST DIED.]
[CAUSE OF DEATH: TRIGGERED EXPLOSIVE DEVICE.]
[HOME IS COMPROMISED. RECALIBRATING SAFE ZONES.]
[SEARCHING FOR REVIVAL CHECKPOINT...]
[CHECKPOINT FOUND.]
[REVIVING HOST.]
The prompts flashed and disappeared in the void. The searing heat was gone. The roar of the explosion was replaced by a dead silence.
Light returned.
Adam was standing in the teacher's office again. He was facing Mr. James's desk.
This time however there was no fear on his face. There was no shock no confusion no grief.
His expression was a perfect blank slate. Four deaths had burned something out of him.
The pain the fear the betrayal—they were still there but they were buried under a layer of cold hard ice. His eyes looking down at the teacher who was about to speak were completely empty. They were devoid of any emotion.
Before James could open his mouth to offer his hollow condolences Adam spoke. His voice was flat level and cold. It held no trace of the polite scared boy he had been.
"I'm not feeling well. I'm going to the nurse's office."
Without waiting for a response he turned and walked out. His steps were even and measured. He was no longer running from death. He was studying it.
He left a very confused teacher sitting alone in his cubicle. James frowned.
The boy was acting stranger and stranger. But it didn't matter. The plan would still work. The bounty would be his. He was sure of it.