Project: GRIM REAPER

I remained seated in the dimly lit room, my eyes still red and swollen from the tears I had shed moments earlier. My heart felt heavy, my mind numb as I stared blankly at my siblings' lifeless forms.

The rhythmic sound of their steady breathing, aided by the life-support machines, was a constant reminder that they were still alive—barely.

The cold, clinical atmosphere of the hospital room only amplified the isolation I felt. The grey walls, the sterile scent of disinfectant, and the flickering overhead lights pressed down on me like a weight I couldn't escape.

The room itself seemed frozen in time, stuck in limbo, much like my siblings. Outside, life continued to move forward, people going about their days, unaware of the agony that gripped families like mine.

I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to shake the gnawing sense of helplessness.

The hospital room felt suffocating, every second stretching endlessly. I had spent so many days here, sitting by their bedsides, willing them to wake up, hoping for some miracle. But hope was becoming harder to hold on to.

My eyes drifted to Ami's delicate face, her once vibrant energy now reduced to this shell, kept alive by machines. Takeshi, my older brother, lay beside her, the brilliant spark of his genius dulled, trapped somewhere in that digital prison called Eternal Nexus.

I clenched my fists, the helplessness twisting into frustration.

How could I protect them if I couldn't even reach them? I thought. Every day felt like a countdown, a ticking clock to an inevitable end...

After a long silence, I finally rose from my chair and walked over to the corner of the room, where a small television hung on the wall.

I grabbed the remote, hesitating for a moment before turning it on. Maybe there was some update, some news—anything that could shed light on the situation inside Eternal Nexus.

The screen flickered to life, and a female reporter's voice filled the room.

"...as the number of survivors inside Eternal Nexus continues to decline at an alarming rate. The latest figures show only 10,089 players still alive. In related news, another group of families has agreed to euthanasia, opting to unplug their loved ones from the VR VIZion system as their health continues to deteriorate. Many of the remaining survivors' life-support machines are failing, and more deaths are expected in the coming weeks."

My heart pounded in my chest as I listened, my eyes glued to the screen. Though my siblings' names weren't mentioned, the weight of my uncle's words earlier still hung over me like a dark cloud.

How long until their bodies gave out? How long until they were next?

Suddenly, the broadcast cut to a breaking news alert. The screen flickered with urgency, and the reporter's voice dropped into a grave tone.

"This just in," she said, her words crisp and deliberate, as though aware of the weight they carried. "After five long years of global debate and painstaking preparation, the world's governments have reached a historic decision. Today marks the official launch of Project: GRIM REAPER—the final, coordinated effort to end the Eternal Nexus crisis once and for all. This mission will involve the recruitment of ten of the most elite individuals from across the globe. Their task? To enter the game itself and eliminate Kaito Nakamura, the man who created Eternal Nexus, and bring an end to the nightmare that has gripped our world for half a decade. Further details on the project remain classified, but sources confirm this is humanity's last and best hope."

The report cut off abruptly, leaving the room in suffocating silence, but the words echoed endlessly in my mind.

GRIM REAPER, huh... I thought.

A glimmer of hope after all these years. The thought of finally ending the nightmare sent a rush of relief through me.

It was more than just an announcement—it was the sliver of light I hadn't dared hope for in years. My pulse quickened as the implications settled in.

After all the deaths, the despair, the excruciating waiting... now, after five years of watching lives crumble around me, a path had opened. A way out. My muscles tightened as relief battled with the crushing anxiety that had been my constant companion.

A mission to end it all. To finally bring Nakamura to justice.

I turned off the TV and stood in silence for a moment, whispering to myself, "There's hope… it's finally going to be over."

I turned back to my siblings, their still forms bathed in the pale light of the machines. "Just a little longer," I muttered, my voice cracking. "It'll be over soon."

After another lingering moment, I stepped toward them, placing my hand gently on Takeshi's arm, then on Ami's. "Stay strong. I'll be back," I whispered.

I left the room quietly and made my way back to the hospital lobby, where my uncle Hiroshi stood, reviewing some charts with the doctors. I approached him, and Hiroshi looked up, surprise written all over his face.

"Rei?" Hiroshi asked, noticing the look on my face.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before approaching my uncle. "Uncle Hiroshi," I began, my voice quiet but resolute, "I just saw the news... Project: GRIM REAPER—it's real. They're going to try and end this once and for all."

Hiroshi, who had been absentmindedly shuffling through some paperwork, froze. His hands stilled, the tension in the room growing palpable.

Slowly, he looked up at me, the weight of the words sinking in. For a long moment, he simply stared, as if processing the enormity of what I had just said.

Finally, his expression faltered. "So... it's come to this," Hiroshi murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and something darker—resignation.

He removed his glasses, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he let out a shaky breath. His shoulders sagged, the years of worry and sleepless nights catching up to him all at once.

"Five years," he whispered, barely audible. "Five years of waiting, hoping, and now... they're really doing it."

I nodded, watching as his face contorted with emotion. Tears welled up in Hiroshi's eyes, and for the first time in years, the man who had kept a strong front finally broke. He cried softly, his hands trembling.

I reached out, resting a hand on Hiroshi's shoulder, though words failed me. There was nothing to say—just a shared understanding of the pain, the weight of the years that had passed.

After a while, Hiroshi pulled himself together, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. "Thank you, Rei," he said hoarsely. "I'll inform the rest of the family soon…"

I nodded silently before leaving my uncle behind.

I nodded silently before leaving my uncle behind. I exited the hospital and headed back to my motorcycle, my mind racing with the events of the day. As I mounted my bike, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was about to change—a shift in the air, a tremor before the quake.

I sped through the familiar city streets, the hum of my motorcycle doing little to drown out the racing thoughts in my mind. The possibility that this nightmare might finally come to an end seemed both surreal and overwhelming. My pulse quickened with each passing moment as I replayed the news in my head, desperate to share it with my parents.

But as I rounded the corner to my street, something felt off. The usual quiet neighborhood had an unusual presence—military vehicles lined both sides of the road, their dark, imposing shapes standing out starkly against the calm suburban backdrop.

Soldiers, armed and on alert, stood by my house, their expressions hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and hardened stances. The air around them seemed to crackle with authority, making my stomach churn.

My brows furrowed in confusion as I eased my motorcycle toward the driveway.

My heartbeat, already erratic from the news, now thudded heavier in my chest. As I approached, the soldiers eyed me, their gazes sharp, but they made no move to stop me. That only heightened the tension gnawing at me.

Pulling into the driveway, I killed the engine and swung my leg off the bike, glancing toward the front of my home. It looked the same as always, yet the presence of military personnel made it feel unrecognizable—like a scene out of some tactical operation, not the home I'd grown up in.

With each step I took toward the garage, I felt the weight of a dozen eyes on me.

The soldiers didn't speak, but the unspoken intensity was enough to knot my stomach. I nodded once, trying to appear calm, though unease clawed at me.

There was no explanation for why they were here, and that lack of clarity gnawed at my nerves.

Entering the garage, I closed the door behind me, the familiar clank of metal on metal reverberating in the tense silence. But inside the house, the oppressive feeling only grew stronger. The air was thick—heavy with something more than just the usual quiet. Something had shifted.

I walked through the narrow hallway, the house eerily silent, as if waiting for something to happen. The faint murmurs of conversation drifted from the living room, and as I approached, I could see through the slightly ajar door—my parents weren't alone.

Pushing the door open wider, my eyes immediately fell on my father, Hiroshi Kurogane, seated with a rigid posture on the couch.

His commanding presence was undeniable, as always—a man of few words but immense authority. My mother sat beside him, her face pale and drawn.

Across from them were several men in black suits, their expressions unreadable behind dark glasses, their bodies stiff and alert.

In the center of it all, sitting with crossed legs, was a figure that caught me off guard—someone unfamiliar. A man in a white lab coat, his long black hair tied back neatly, his demeanor almost too composed for the serious atmosphere.

The tension in the room was palpable, and as I stepped forward, my father turned to me. His red eyes—shared by both me and my siblings—seemed darker than usual, carrying the weight of whatever conversation had been taking place before my arrival.

"Rei," my father's deep voice called out, calm but commanding, "sit down."

The authority in his tone left no room for argument, but there was an undercurrent of something unusual in his voice. Something that made me pause.

Glancing once at the suited men and then at the stranger in the lab coat, I walked over and took a seat next to my mother, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room shift toward me.

As I sat down beside her, I could feel the weight of the room's collective gaze bearing down on me.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, thick and suffocating, as if everyone were waiting for me to speak first. My father's posture remained rigid, his face unreadable, while the man in the lab coat leaned forward slightly, adjusting his glasses in a calculated manner.

My mouth felt dry, and my pulse quickened as I tried to find the right words. The news I had heard, the military presence, the stranger sitting calmly in our living room—it was all too much.

"I…" I began, my voice quieter than I intended. I swallowed, forcing myself to meet my father's piercing gaze. "I just saw the news. About Project: GRIM REAPER."

My father's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of recognition passing across his face.

The man in the lab coat smiled faintly, as if amused by my statement, but said nothing. My mother shifted beside me, her hand brushing against mine, cold and trembling.

The silence that followed my words was deafening.

I could feel the tension building, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for someone to respond.

Finally, my father spoke, his voice low and measured. "Yes, Rei. We've been informed."

Before I could process his response, the man in the lab coat uncrossed his legs and stood up, his gaze sharp and calculating as he addressed me directly.

"And it seems," he said in a smooth, detached tone, "you're about to play a far more crucial role in this project than you realize."

My blood ran cold, confusion deepening as I glanced between my father and the man in the lab coat. My mind raced, struggling to piece together what was happening.

What did he mean by that? What role?

The man's cryptic smile lingered as he folded his arms, casting a long shadow across the room. "But we'll get to that soon enough."

My stomach churned, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. I had come home to deliver the news—but it seemed the real revelation was waiting for me all along.