Beep... Beep... Beep...
Huh...? Ohhh...
Michael came to with the steady rhythm of a heart monitor echoing in his ears. That sound—it had been part of his life for over a decade now. A dull, mechanical lullaby marking the passing of time. It was his thirty-second birthday. Not that birthdays meant much anymore.
He'd been in this hospital since he was twenty-two. Ten long years. The first five spent undergoing tests, procedures, and false hope. The last five? Hooked up to machines. Living, if you could call it that, on borrowed time and artificial breath.
An unknown blood disorder had stolen everything from him. His strength. His youth. His dreams. But worst of all—it had taken his family.
First his older sister. Then his father. Cousins, aunts, uncles—one by one, the mysterious sickness wiped them out. His mother was the last to go, holding on by sheer will until her body finally gave out when he was thirty-one. She died holding his hand, whispering that he wasn't alone.
But she was wrong. He was completely, utterly alone.
Michael stared at the sterile ceiling, his body too weak to move, his skin pale and thin like paper. Even the nurses had stopped pretending he'd recover. They came in less often now. Fewer tests. Fewer smiles. The only constant was the steady beeping that marked his slow, inevitable decline.
Ten years in this bed... five years on life support... and what do I have to show for it?
He felt a bitter sting in his chest—not from the illness, but from the hollowness that had replaced his heart. No lovers. No children. No one left who carried his blood.
He was the last. The final ember of a dying flame.
Tears welled in the corners of his eyes as his mind drifted.
If I had a family of my own... just one more chance...
He imagined it—dozens of them. A new family. A big one. Sons, daughters, siblings, bonds that couldn't be broken. He'd protect them fiercely. Teach them all he knew. Strengthen them, body and soul. Love them without condition.
I'd do anything for them... anything.
The sound of the heart monitor quickened for a moment, then slowed. Michael's vision dimmed. The weight in his chest grew heavier.
This is it...
He didn't fight it. There was nothing left to fight for.
As the final beep gave way to a long, unbroken tone—the flatline—Michael exhaled a breath that never came back. The world around him faded into silence and darkness.
But then… something strange happened.
He felt something. Not pain. Not warmth. Not even fear.
It was as if something had brushed against his soul, gently tugging it from the shell of his broken body. He was floating—or maybe drifting—into a place that didn't quite exist. There was no light. No ground. No air. Just... presence.
He had no body. No breath. Only awareness.
And then, in the void, a faint shimmer appeared.
A small box of glowing white text blinked into existence before him.
[System Initialization...]
Welcome, Michael.