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iTrapped stands at the edge, looking down at the world beneath him.
It was late, but there still seemed to be signs of life below—with bright neon lights shining from every building, and cars still driving along the roads. Right now, he was standing at the rooftop, leaning forward against the safety railing.
For a long time, this had always been their spot—for late night talks, for spending time together—it had become their place for a brief moment of reprieve from all the challenges of life. He remembers the last time he came here, just for a smoke with them—but now he was smoking alone, with his cigarette in hand.
He takes a puff from his cigarette, before closing his eyes. The memory of their face hits him at once—he remembers the curve of their smile, and the way they looked at him—eyes full of kindness, voice always so full of warmth.
Everything reminds me of you. Everywhere I look… I see you. Even now, on late nights like this, you continue to haunt me.
In their final moments together, he remembers Chance’s face. Those wide eyes, full of trust, and that trembling smile, one that refused to fade, no matter what.
I can still hear it. Your voice, when you confessed that awful truth to me.
“iTrapped…” they had whispered, between shaky breaths and sweet nothings. "I love you.”
The air smelled of something bitter—blood, and all of his past regrets. Their hand reaches out for his, hoping for that fleeting touch of warmth.
"I don't.” iTrapped pulls away. I couldn't.
Even until now, the sound of their voice echoes in his mind, refusing to fade. He thinks about them—how their eyes were once full of affection, now lifeless. He could never dare to return their love… it was never meant to be.
The wind bites at his skin, carrying the faintest whisper of their laughter—warm and bright, always full of joy. Everything seems to remind him of what he had lost… and what he had destroyed with his own two hands.
No matter how hard I try, I can't forget you. I wish I could bury everything away, and never think about you again. But I can't. I should hate you for that, Chance.
I think I hate myself more, though. For ruining this, for ruining you. You didn't deserve it. But I… I had to do it. It was worth it, right?
Chance’s tired eyes stare back at him. iTrapped looks away, avoiding their gaze.
You know it wasn't.
“Why did you do it? Why did you kill me, iTrapped?”
I loved you, I loved you so much—and you did this to me.
“How could you…?”
iTrapped opens his eyes.
The world below keeps moving, even without them. It doesn't care for the dead. And he shouldn't either.
But he can't. He sees them everywhere, judging him and reminding him what he's done to them.
Blood drips down his hands. He can't escape their grasp.
“iTrapped. Say something."
They’re back in that alleyway, with iTrapped’s hands shaking, stained with Chance’s blood.
I never loved you.
Their grip on him tightens, the desperation clear in their eyes. They just need something—to hear that their affection was not all for naught, that some piece of him—even if it was buried deep within—did care for Chance. That their efforts, and all their affection meant something in the end.
"You… cared about me, right? I meant something to you.”
Their blood is on his hands. He killed them. He’s done so many wrongs, and taken so much from them. What’s one more thing to add to the pile? What's one more lie he can tell to let himself sleep better at night?
“No," he lies. “I didn't."
The world melts away. He’s sinking, swallowed up by a mass of darkness. The alleyway transforms, completely turning into another location.
The casino. That time where they played Russian Roulette together.
The cold metal of the gun is pressed against Chance’s temple. Their knuckles are white, and their hands are shaking with fear.
“I’m scared, iTrapped. Please, can we stop this?”
No, we have to continue this. It's for my friends.
Click. Click. Click.
The game ends. The chamber was always empty.
Maybe it would have been better if you died that night. Then I wouldn't have your blood on my hands—I could pretend it was an accident, that I never quite meant it. But I can't take back what I’ve done now.
He imagines their blood splattered all over the table, that warm and sticky liquid dripping down the table. When people feel guilty, it's easier to find someone else to blame than themselves.
I wish I had never met you, Chance. I wish I had never tried to be your friend. Maybe all this… would hurt less. Maybe I would stop thinking about you, and that haunted look in your eyes.
The fault lies with me. All of it.
He takes another puff of that bitter smoke, and the light of the cigarette glows between his fingers. He lets the ashes at the end disappear into the wind, just like all the memories he had of them, letting it fade into dust.
And here I am, reaching out for your shadow. Even when you offered me paradise, with your open arms…
I let you go. I pushed you away.
Something tight rises in his chest. Guilt gnaws at him, eating away at his conscience, refusing to give him a reprieve. It's like a parasite, sucking away at him, leaving only that pain of what he had lost—and a reminder of what he had taken from them. Their future.
He remembers what happened after.
He had gone to their house. It was silent, far too quiet for his liking. It looked… empty, without Chance. Even though he had scrubbed the remaining blood from his hands, the sensation still lingered, like a permanent brand on his skin. Still, he forces himself inside, trying to find what he had been searching for all along.
He had already taken the key. It was tucked away in his pocket, all safe and secure. He was just… looking for something else.
He takes a few steps, before finally finding it. Their pet rabbit, Spade. He didn't want to leave it behind—he should have—but it didn't feel right. Chance wouldn't want it to be alone.
Why did iTrapped care? Shouldn't he have just left it to die?
Despite all of those questions racing in his mind, he takes the rabbit anyway. He tells himself he will drop it off at the pet center when he's free, and find a proper home for it. Maybe he can set things right, in some way. But he doesn't leave it behind. Instead he keeps it, hidden in the corner of his apartment. He feeds it, takes care of it… even when he knows he doesn't have to.
Guilt is what motivates him—and maybe a mix of longing too. After all, it's his last connection to Chance… it’s the only reminder he has that they ever existed in his life in the first place. He clings onto it, that fragile thing—hoping that it would somehow be able to ease that aching, and grant him some mercy in the eternal torment created by his regrets.
But he’s alone now. Standing there, right at the edge of the rooftop. The world remains as oblivious as ever—to Chance’s death, to iTrapped’s guilt, to a love that can never be returned. It seems to mock him, almost, with all of its indifference. The Banlands key in his pocket feels heavy, like a burden he never knew he wasn't ready to bear.
All he did… was it really worth it in the end?
He already knows the answer to that question. It wasn’t.
The smoke begins to burn his lungs. He coughs, nearly choking, his throat rasping for air. There's a bitter tang clawing down, tasting of ash and all of his regrets.
I know it doesn't mean anything now. But I’m sorry, Chance.
He looks down. It's a long way to go. If he does something, the world will not know. It did not mourn for Chance’s death—someone who actually deserved to be loved—so why would they mourn someone like him? Someone who only knew how to take, someone who exploited and hurt others… the world would be happier if he was gone.
And yet, he does not step off the ledge. The thought of him ending things now feels selfish. He can't do it—at least, not yet.
He still has a job to do. After all of his troubles… he can't give it up now. He needs to break into the Banlands, and free his friends. They were counting on him to succeed, and help them get out. After everything he had done to get to this point… he couldn't afford to fail now.
He drops the cigarette to the ground before crushing it beneath his heel. The ember extinguishes with a sharp hiss. He doesn't know why he even came up to the rooftop—there’s no reason to return here anymore. Maybe he's only done it as some form of goodbye, meant to give him some kind of closure.
But it doesn't. He feels… hollow, and he has no one else to blame except for himself—after all, he is the one who killed them. And now, he will be the one left standing, to bear the consequences of his actions, to carry that guilt until the day he dies.
How pathetic. I deserve to die.
He turns to leave. Still, he cannot stop himself from taking one last glance at the rooftop. For a moment, he swears he sees Chance there, perched at the rooftop’s edge, watching him. Their eyes are as warm as ever, and they still give him that familiar, kind smile, just like they always did—they loved him to the very end.
There's a faint whisper carried by the wind, one that sounds exactly like their voice.
“I… forgive you, iTrapped.”
How can Chance forgive him, when he cannot even forgive himself?
That's how he knows it isn't real. It cannot be them… it must just be another hallucination of his.
He huffs, forcing himself to look away, to avert his gaze from theirs. He continues to walk forward, ignoring them completely—and forcing himself back into the real world. To a world that will never forgive him, one that will force him to remember, to live with what he's done.
I’ll carry this sin with me, until the day I die.