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“What?”
iTrapped’s voice cracked, barely hiding the shock as he slowly turned around. His piercing blue eyes locked onto the shadowy figure standing silently in the dim light.
█ didn’t speak at first, but stared back. A chilling smile spread across their faceless form, like a secret being savored. Then, with quiet finality:
“Kill Chance. And I’ll grant you a wish. Any.”
The words hung heavy in the air like a frozen whisper.
iTrapped’s brow twitched, skepticism battling curiosity. His attire, crisp and deliberate—a white long-sleeved polo shirt, buttoned at the collar, tucked neatly into dark green trousers. Over this, a yellow vest clung snugly, contrasting sharply with the white-fur shawl draped elegantly over one shoulder. Ice spikes shimmered faintly on the fur, reflecting the dim glow.
Long blonde hair framed his pale-yellow face, but his mind was consumed by the figure’s proposal.
Just kill Chance. And he’ll be granted a wish. Any wish.
iTrapped blinked, heart hammering. His thoughts raced, struggling to catch up with the weight of those words. This… this could change everything.
“A-are you serious?”I he finally stammered, voice barely above a whisper. “This is… life changing. Genuinely.”
His eyes flickered away, briefly clouded with memories of their partnership — the late nights plotting, the shared dreams, the unspoken bond they’d built. But underneath it all, a quiet desperation simmered.
If I do this… if I kill him…
iTrapped swallowed hard. The possibility that awaited him was almost too much to bear.
“I’ll meet him again,” he whispered, more to himself than to the shadow. “I’ll meet him again. This time, everything could be different.”
The figure’s smile widened, a silent acknowledgment.
“Imagine,” iTrapped continued, voice growing firmer, “no more running. No more hiding. A fresh start… with my wish.”
His fingers twitched slightly, the cold of the fur on his shoulder grounding him. The weight of the decision pressed deep, but the temptation of the unknown future shone brighter.
“Any wish?” he pressed, voice shaking between hope and disbelief.
█ nodded, expression unreadable but promising.
iTrapped stepped closer, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “And this… this wish… it’s real? It’s not a trick?”
“Real,” came the response. “But nothing is free. The price is clear.”
He hesitated, heart pounding in his chest. Kill Chance. Then everything changes.
A spark ignited deep within him — a hunger that had been growing, clawing to be unleashed.
“I’ve waited too long,” iTrapped said, voice low and steady now. “For too long, we’ve been trapped in this cycle… stuck with nothing but echoes and shadows. If this is the chance to break free — I’ll take it.”
The shadow’s smile remained, unwavering.
“What about him?” iTrapped asked, his thoughts turning to the bond they shared. “He’s my partner. How can I just… end it?”
█ answer was calm, final:
“The path to power demands sacrifice. Loyalty is a luxury you cannot afford.”
iTrapped’s jaw tightened. The weight of that truth sank in like ice.
He looked away, gaze drifting to the distant flicker of light beyond the dark room. In that glow, he saw a reflection of what could be — freedom, power, a reunion.
“I’m ready,” he said at last. “I’ll do what must be done. For the wish. For him. For a new beginning.”
█ stepped forward, reaching out a shadowed hand.
“Then the game begins,” it whispered. “Choose wisely, iTrapped. The consequences will be yours alone.”
iTrapped met the hand, gripping it firmly, feeling a pulse of cold energy surge through his veins.
His breath hitched.
In that moment, the choice was made.
He wasn’t just a pawn anymore.
He was a player.
And soon… he would meet him again.
The room was silent except for the soft click of the revolver’s cylinder spinning, a cruel rhythm echoing in the stale air.
iTrapped watched Chance closely. His partner sat across the table, calm but curious, eyes hidden behind dark shades. Chance’s silver-grey hair caught the faint light, the black fedora shadowing his face just enough to keep his thoughts a mystery.
“Will you play Russian roulette with me? Just for fun,” iTrapped asked, voice almost casual, as if it were an innocent game.
Chance blinked, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, a subtle smirk tugged at his lips.
“Sure,” Chance replied, voice steady but with an edge of eagerness. “What’s life without a little thrill, right?”
iTrapped’s pulse quickened, but his face remained neutral. The stakes were far from fun, but the game had to appear ordinary.
He adjusted his yellow vest and smoothed the white-fur shawl that draped over his shoulder, the tiny ice spikes glimmering coldly. The contrast between his calm appearance and the storm inside him was sharp.
The revolver lay between them, cold steel gleaming under the flickering light. iTrapped lifted it slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders.
Chance leaned forward slightly, hands resting on the table, fingers intertwined. There was no hint of suspicion in his posture—just that quiet readiness to engage, to trust.
iTrapped swallowed, then placed the gun to his temple first. A breath. A heartbeat. The trigger clicked — empty chamber. Relief flickered briefly across his eyes.
“Your turn,” he said, sliding the gun toward Chance with a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
Chance picked it up effortlessly, the gun feeling natural in his grasp. He brought it to his temple, closed his eyes for a moment, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
A laugh escaped Chance’s lips, low and amused. “Lucky, huh?”
iTrapped nodded, voice calm. “Or maybe it’s fate.”
They went back and forth, revolver exchanging hands with every round, the tension tightening like a noose around the room.
Neither spoke much. Words were unnecessary. The silence held their shared history—the trust, the betrayals yet unspoken, the impending fracture.
iTrapped’s gaze lingered on Chance’s face, searching for a flicker of doubt or fear, but found none. Chance was composed, even eager.
That was the funny part. Chance didn’t know. He genuinely didn’t know what this game meant.
And iTrapped preferred it that way.
Each click was a reminder of the mission—the small, simple step promised by the shadowy figure.
Kill Chance.
Then the wish.
The reunion.
The future.
iTrapped’s hand trembled slightly when the gun returned to him. He forced his breath steady, gripping the cold metal tighter.
This was life changing.
The revolver clicked empty again.
“Still here,” Chance said, lifting the gun to his temple once more.
iTrapped’s eyes narrowed. Soon.
Chance pulled the trigger.
Click.
The smile stayed on his lips, but his shoulders tensed.
iTrapped’s turn.
He took the gun, lifting it to his temple deliberately slow. The chamber spun once more.
Click.
Neither moved.
The game continued, a deadly dance masked as amusement.
Minutes stretched like hours.
Finally, Chance lowered the gun, setting it back on the table with a soft thud.
“That was… fun,” Chance said, eyes meeting iTrapped’s with a flicker of warmth.
iTrapped nodded, a strange mixture of relief and sorrow swirling within him.
“Yes. Fun.”
But behind his calm exterior, the cold truth remained.
The game was not over.
Not yet.
And soon, everything would change.
The revolver clicked again.
Empty.
Again.
iTrapped watched as Chance handed the gun back to him, laughing softly. “What are the odds, huh?” Chance said, tone light, almost giddy with the thrill.
iTrapped didn’t laugh. His fingers curled around the grip, cold and familiar now. His expression didn’t shift as he raised the barrel to his temple again.
Click.
Still nothing.
Another chamber. Another breath. Another delay.
And he was so tired of waiting.
Inside, iTrapped was burning.
The room was cold — always cold around him — but within, his thoughts were feverish, frantic. Why is this taking so long? Why won’t it just happen already? Why won’t he die?
This was supposed to be simple.
A small mission. Just one shot.
One life taken, and everything would change.
He’d be with him again.
The thought pierced his chest like a dagger laced with longing. That voice. That laugh. That perfect, awful smile. His memory was carved into every corner of iTrapped’s soul.
He closed his eyes for a moment as Chance reached for the gun again. The table between them felt miles wide now — like some spiritual divide. On one side: the past. The person he had to kill. On the other?
The future.
Him.
That future was brighter than anything this dim room could hold. It was filled with warmth, with clarity, with reunion. It wasn’t just a wish—it was correction. A rewriting of everything lost. A second chance with the only person who ever made him feel like he wasn’t a monster.
So why was Chance still breathing?
...
Click.
Still alive.
iTrapped’s jaw clenched so tightly he felt his molars ache. Chance chuckled again, wiping invisible sweat from his brow. “Getting real lucky tonight, huh?”
iTrapped stared at him.
The way he smiled without knowing. How calm he was, thinking this was just a game. A thrill. Just another moment shared between partners.
It was infuriating.
Pathetic.
Chance didn’t know the weight of this moment. He didn’t know he was standing on the edge of eternity, one breath away from erasure.
iTrapped didn’t want his smile anymore.
It's so disgusting.
He wanted silence.
The revolver returned to his hand.
He didn’t even hesitate now. The cold metal pressed to his temple was almost comforting. Familiar.
Click.
Nothing.
He lowered it, lips tight. His throat burned with swallowed impatience. Just go off already, he thought bitterly. Just die already. Let this be over.
He imagined it clearly now — Chance’s head snapping to the side, the gun falling from his limp hand. The sharp shock of it. The silence afterward.
Then—
The room splitting apart.
The air growing still.
And the black figure stepping through the cracks of the realm, offering that twisted smile.
“Your wish.”
And he’d say it without hesitation.
“I want him back.”
Chance twirled the revolver lazily, cocky as ever. “Feels like fate’s playing with us,” he said. “One bullet. So many spins. Still walking.”
Shut up, iTrapped thought.
He couldn’t look at him anymore without thinking of how fragile it all was. The moment. The illusion. The life that Chance had no idea was slipping between his fingers.
And worse—
How easy it would be to reach across the table, snatch the gun, aim it at chance, and finish this.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
Not until fate played its hand.
Not until the game was honored.
He stared past Chance now. Saw the space beside him. Empty—but soon, it wouldn’t be.
He imagined him standing there.
Shoulder-length hair catching light. That ever-neutral face. Hands folded behind his back, as if he were never gone at all. Watching him. Like before.
Like always.
Together.
iTrapped’s fingers twitched. His breath hitched. He was so close. He could feel it, like frost blooming in his lungs.
Chance raised the gun again.
iTrapped’s heart thundered in his chest.
Die already.
His eyes didn’t leave the weapon.
Die already..
The trigger pulled—
Click.
Nothing.
Again.
Again.
The air felt suffocating. He wanted to scream.
He wanted to grab the gun and shove it into Chance’s hands and say, Do it again. Do it again until it ends. Until you’re gone.
His patience was ice, and it was cracking. Splintering.
What was taking so long?
He had played his part. He had agreed. He had believed. He deserved that wish. And yet, Chance smiled across the table like they were equals. Like this wasn’t the end for him.
Like this wasn’t his final moment.
iTrapped's fingers curled into a fist on his lap.
Soon.
Soon, this fucker is dead. On the floor, bleeding from his head. Dying— motionless... Wish fulfilled.
The promise fulfilled.
And iTrapped can finally see him again.
No more limbo. No more shadows.
Just them.
Together.
Like it always should have been.
...
Click.
The gun didn’t go off.
Not on his turn.
iTrapped narrowed his eyes.
He watched Chance across the table — a flash of nervousness in the grin that stretched too wide. He was playing it off like a joke, like they were still partners, still equals. Like they were still boys with secrets rather than enemies born from fate.
Chance slid the revolver across the table. The metal whispered across wood.
iTrapped reached out and wrapped his fingers around it. Smooth, cold. Heavy.
His grip was calm.
His hands didn’t shake.
Without hesitation, he raised the revolver to his own temple.
He didn’t blink.
He didn’t smile.
He pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The sound didn’t echo.
It dissolved.
White.
Endless.
Silent.
iTrapped’s vision was drowned in it. A dreamy haze wrapped around him like fog that remembered how to breathe.
He was standing now.
There was no chair, no gun, no blood. No Chance.
Just this — an eternal white space. Cold and soft and final.
He looked down at his hand.
And instead of a weapon, he held a flower.
A white lily.
Delicate. Still. Almost glowing.
His breath caught.
It wasn’t his favorite.
It never had been.
But it was his.
He brought the flower closer, as if its scent might bring him back in time. As if the petals would whisper something forgotten. As if the stem might point the way.
The way to him.
And then he looked up.
There, ahead of him — not near, not far — a figure.
Familiar as a name etched into bone.
Red polo tucked into black trousers. A black apron tied neatly behind, bow even and tight. Gloved hands.
Shoulder-length blonde hair.
A red visor casting a soft crimson glow across pale-yellow skin.
Elliot?
But he didn’t look at iTrapped.
He stood with both of his hands in a steepling gesture.. As if waiting something, or waiting an ending.. His gaze drifted to something far beyond the dream. Or maybe he was pretending not to see him. Or maybe he didn’t need to look.
Because he already knew.
“How unfortunate,” Elliot murmured, voice calm. Smooth. Familiar.
“It seems we’ll have to skip to the finale.”
His tone wasn’t cruel. It never was. Just honest. Brutally gentle.
iTrapped didn’t speak.
He couldn’t.
His mouth opened slightly, but no sound left it.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t run.
He just stood there.
Like a statue holding onto hope with trembling hands.
Then—
Elliot began to fade.
Not dissolve. Not vanish.
Just… fade.
Like light slipping through a crack in the curtain. Like memory unraveling.
No.
iTrapped flinched, taking a half-step forward — too late.
Elliot’s eyes, finally, shifted.
They locked onto iTrapped.
A brief pause.
A recognition.
And then—
A faint smile bloomed across Elliot’s face, so gentle it stung.
Eyes closing.
Head tilting.
"Ah well... see you next time, iTrapped."
And like mist in morning light, he was gone.
iTrapped’s hands clenched around the lily until the stem snapped.
His breath caught.
“No…”
His voice cracked in that white void, softer than a whisper. He didn’t move. Didn’t chase. As if his feet were shackled to regret.
“No!!” he excliamed, voice rising, echoing now. Finally echoing. “You can’t do that—I was so close!”
His knuckles turned white. He dropped the flower. It hit the ground like glass, and still didn’t shatter.
“I did everything! I tried! I was ready!”
His voice broke.
His knees threatened to give.
“You can’t do that again…”
The light grew brighter. Too bright.
A rushing, pulsing whiteness rose behind his eyes.
“You can’t—!”
——
Back in the real world, iTrapped’s body hit the ground like a doll pulled from strings. The revolver spun once in the air and landed beside him.
Chance screamed.
But iTrapped didn’t hear it.
He was already gone.
Dead.