Don't tell a Lie

Tiit.

Tiit.

The sound cuts through the silence like a needle. Where is it coming from?

Tiit.

Tiit.

"…call Doctor Jannette, she…" D-doctor J-Jannette?

Why is there a doctor? What's this relentless beeping? Where am I? I… I must… Damn it! Why can't I move?

"I thought there were no more surgeries for me," a voice responds, sharp and brittle, like ice cracking under pressure.

That voice… so cold, detached.

"We know your resignation is official, Doctor, but… please. Just one last time. Your precision could save this young man's life."

Tiit.

Tiit.

The beeping sound fades in and out, mingling with the distant voices. Doctor Jannette. That name pulls me back. I remember now. That bastard got me. Those shears… the pain… So, this is where I ended up.

"Yeah, in an operating room where Doctor Jannette ends her career."

A chill crawls down my spine. That voice, again. It was the same voice that asked me for my wish before all of this happened. A voice so familiar, but distant. Mocking.

"You can thank me later."

Tsk. Damn it, who are you? And why do you keep speaking like you know me?

"You'll know me soon enough."

The voice dissolves into silence as I slip back into the void.

[ Mission: Final Operation ]

[ Rewards: ????? ]

[ Penalty: Lose your doctor's license ]

[ Will you accept the mission? ]

My fingers trembled slightly. Not from fear, no—not entirely. But from exhaustion. The kind that creeps into your bones after years of living at the edge of burnout. I wasn't just tired—I was worn down. My reflection in the stainless-steel instrument tray confirmed it.

Dark circles framed my black eyes, accentuating the stress etched into my pale skin. My lips, once naturally pink and full, were now pressed into a thin, anxious line. I could feel the weight of the day bearing down on my shoulders, my usually flawless posture giving way to the creeping hunch of someone who's constantly on guard.

I ran a hand through my hair—thick, dark waves pulled back into a tight bun. Not for style but necessity. Even in the haze of my fatigue, a small part of me still wanted to look professional, even if I barely recognized myself anymore. Pretty. Sexy. That's what they used to call me—back when I cared. Now, that image felt like a ghost, overshadowed by this endless pressure, this cursed system.

"Why is the reward hidden from me?" I whispered, more to myself than to anyone else. My voice was hoarse, barely audible. I needed clarity. Yet, as always, the system refused to give it.

[ The main system wishes to speak with you. ]

I sighed, feeling my pulse quicken. The system had a way of worming itself into the most private corners of my mind, nudging and poking until I had no choice but to listen. Hmmm… the main system? So there are two systems? 

My hands, once steady and precise, clenched into fists. I had to keep control. This… thing, this system, it wasn't just a tool anymore. It was something more. Something insidious.

"Why now?" I muttered under my breath, pacing the small, sterile room. The floor tiles were cool beneath my feet, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me.

[ I know you dislike having your mind read, Doctor Jannette. ]

[ But the answer is no. ]

[ Me and the main system are one. ]

I stopped. My heart skipped a beat. There it was again—one, yet two. It was always cryptic, always just vague enough to keep me guessing. But I wasn't an idiot. Something about this arrangement felt off. The main system could speak whenever it wanted, forcing me to confront these impossible choices. Yet, it played this game, pretending to ask for permission, dangling threats and promises.

My chest tightened as its voice returned.

"Things are about to get interesting, Doctor. Don't you want to be surprised?"

I grit my teeth, suppressing the anger bubbling beneath the surface. This was my life, my career. And yet it toyed with me, as though I were a puppet. My body felt distant—like it wasn't mine anymore. The sleek, white walls of the room closed in, the beeping of machines outside growing louder, more invasive. The voices of nurses and doctors beyond the door blurred into the background, irrelevant noise compared to the one voice that truly mattered—the system's.

I felt the familiar cold sensation of fear grip my spine.

Mystery missions. Always. The stakes? Higher than I could bear.

"I don't want to lose my license." My voice was firmer now, but the underlying tremor betrayed me. I needed control, and the system was hell-bent on taking that from me.

A deep breath. The tension in my chest eased, if only slightly. I had to do this. It wasn't a choice, not really. Nurse George's voice cracked through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present.

"Doctor Jannette, they're ready in OR two. The patient's… it's critical. But we believe you can save him. Please."

His eyes were pleading, the urgency palpable in the set of his jaw. George was a young man—bright, full of potential. He still looked at me with admiration, as though I were invincible. His clean-shaven face and sharp brown eyes reflected an innocence I hadn't seen in myself for years.

I forced a smile. It felt alien on my face, stiff and unnatural. "I'll put on my scrubs."

As I moved to the preparation area, the lights overhead flickered. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose, a scent so familiar it was almost comforting. I grabbed my surgical attire—crisp, blue fabric that felt too cold against my skin. The mirror above the sink showed me again, more worn down than before. I caught sight of my reflection one last time. My tired green eyes stared back, silently screaming.

I didn't want to do this.

But I had no choice.

"Let's begin," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me.

[ You accepted the mission. ]

Because that was what it meant to be a doctor. You had to save others, even when it felt like you were losing yourself.

As the sterile hum of the operating room faded into the background, so did the comforting murmur of Dr. Jannette's voice. The world around me dimmed and blurred, but somewhere beneath the haze, a familiar weight pulled me back to consciousness. The voices—sharp, insistent—swirled in my mind, but one voice, mocking and relentless, clawed its way through the fog. My body felt distant, like I was observing from far away, but the pain—it was real, anchored to me, pulling me out of the abyss. Ughh, my head…

My skull throbbed, like someone was drilling into my brain with a relentless, dull blade. I groaned, willing the pain away.

"She did a great job saving your ass."

"Of all the voices... why you?" I thought as I clenched my fists beneath the thin hospital blanket, the crisp, sterile fabric doing little to calm my growing frustration. The voice slithered through my mind like a viper, uninvited but unavoidable.

"Robert, don't be so hostile. You owe me a thank you." The tone was mocking, dripping with arrogance.

I bit down hard, my jaw tensing. This—this—whatever was happening, it was beyond comprehension. Like I had been ripped from my own reality and dropped into someone else's twisted dream. Everything felt wrong, like I was fighting against an invisible current.

"Funny, considering you're synced with the system." The voice again. Smug, self-satisfied.

Drugs. I must be on drugs. That would explain the disorientation, the pounding in my head, the fragmented memories.

"Nope, not on drugs, Robert. Haven't you figured that out by now?" The voice oozed confidence, as if it enjoyed watching me struggle.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out, but it pressed on, relentless. Just go away. I need to rest.

"Not yet, Robert. There's still one last task. You haven't finished the mission."

Of course. The mission. I sighed, the weight of it crashing down on me. How could I forget? This final task hung over me like a guillotine, waiting for the blade to drop.

"You remember the penalty, don't you? Fail this, and it's like you never accepted the mission at all."

My sacrifices. All of this—for nothing. The thought gnawed at me, hollow and bitter. I had given up so much.

"Precisely," the voice purred, closer now, more intimate, like a snake coiling around my neck. "Just like Doctor Jannette."

Doctor Jannette. The operating room. It all came rushing back—so it was Dr. Jannette who saved me from the brink.

"I'll see you soon, Robert. Time to wake up."

My eyes fluttered open, reluctantly pulling me from the haze. The room was a stark contrast to the darkness in my head—harshly lit by a long, glaring tubular LED. It buzzed softly, casting an unflattering light on the sterile environment around me.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the brightness, and turned my head to the right.

There she was. My mother. Her face was soft but lined with age and worry. Her once warm brown eyes, now wide with disbelief, locked onto mine, shimmering with unshed tears. Her lips trembled as they parted, releasing a sharp gasp.

"My son... is awake!" she shouted, her voice cracking, and then she bolted to the door, the heels of her shoes clicking rapidly on the cold tile floor. "Nurse! He's awake! Hurry!"

The room was painfully cold, the kind of sterile chill that seeped into your bones. Cream-colored walls, bare and clinical, stripped of any warmth or comfort. A faint scent of bleach lingered, sharp and intrusive. The windows were narrow, framed by dark metal, allowing only a small sliver of sunlight to pierce the gloom.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat nearly choking me. Then, as if summoned by my thoughts, he walked in. My father. His broad shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world, the years etched into his weathered face. Salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly back, his every movement measured, controlled, though I could see the worry lurking behind his hardened exterior.

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw something soften in his gaze.

"Dad…" My voice broke, barely above a whisper. I reached for him, my arms weak and trembling.

Without hesitation, he crossed the room and pulled me into his embrace. His large hand patted my back gently, his strength comforting yet tender.

That was it. The dam broke.

I clung to him, my sobs shaking my chest, the flood of emotions spilling out uncontrollably. "Dad… uwaaahh!"

Tears streamed down my face, soaking into his shirt as I buried my face in his chest, feeling like a child all over again.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you, anak?" he said softly, his voice steady, but with a warmth that made my heart ache. He stroked my hair, his rough hands gentle in their comfort.

I nodded, barely able to speak through the sobs. His presence was the only thing anchoring me in this surreal moment.

"You did well, son. You didn't just protect your sister, but also Tatang Ponce."

His words were meant to soothe, but they only deepened the pit in my stomach. The system's reminder flashed across my vision, cold and clinical.

[Final Task: Don't Tell a Lie]

[Tell your father what happened. Rewards: Complete the mission.]

[Penalty: Fail the mission.]

The message lingered, heavy with its implications. I knew what I had to do. There was no escape from it. The only way forward was the truth, even if it meant tearing my family apart.

I inhaled sharply, fighting against the tightness in my chest, and began to speak. "Dad, I… I have to tell you everything." My words came out shakily, but I pressed on, recounting the events leading to that moment—the fight, my sister's boyfriend, the confrontation, the stabbing.

With every word, I could see the change in his face. His eyes darkened, fury bubbling beneath the surface, his jaw clenched tighter with each sentence.

"That kid…" His voice was cold, dangerous. He shot up from his chair, the sound of it scraping against the floor grating against my already frazzled nerves. His fists balled at his sides, knuckles turning white. "I'm going to—"

[Final Task: Don't Tell a Lie]

[Task Progress: 95%]

[Your father is leaving in: 10 seconds.]

Panic gripped me. What? I had told him everything!

"Not quite. There's one last thing you've held back, isn't there?" The system's voice slithered through my mind, cruel and unyielding.

Ten seconds left. The ticking of time echoed in my ears, a relentless countdown. I could feel the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on my chest, threatening to suffocate me. What haven't I said? What crucial piece of this puzzle am I still holding back?

It was more than just a mission; it was my family's fragile foundation that hung in the balance. I had to tell Dad the whole story, every painful detail, even if it meant tearing the last threads of our unity apart.

Five seconds left.

My breath hitched, a knot tightening in my throat. Damn it. My sister. I hadn't told him about her, about how she was shattered by all of this. The image of her—wide-eyed and trembling, the moment she was being assaulted—flashed through my mind like a cruel slideshow. She didn't deserve any of this chaos.

"Dad… wait." My voice was strained, every word forced through the fear gripping my chest. "Let her recover. From everything that happened."

He stopped, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath. Slowly, he turned, his face a mask of controlled rage.

"Recover? From what, Robert?" His voice trembled, his arms spreading wide in disbelief. "You're the one lying in a hospital bed!"

"No, Dad," I croaked, fighting to sit up despite the searing pain in my side. "She didn't know. She didn't expect any of this to happen."

His expression shifted, the fury draining from his eyes, replaced by something softer. He let out a deep, tired sigh, and with a slow, deliberate movement, returned to his chair. His face, though still strained, softened.

[Final Task Complete.]

[Rewards: Freedom; No curfew. A significant raise in daily allowance. But your relationship with your sister will decrease by 50%.]

"There is always a second chance for every person." Really? Then that makes you an entity of second chances, doesn't it?

"Let's just say I'm a facilitator for those who seek a second chance, a bridge between past failures and new opportunities." The voice was smooth, almost mocking, as if it thrived on my frustration.

"I don't need it! And I can't have it!" I shot back, my heart racing as the reality of my situation washed over me.

"Pff... nonsense, Jannette. Stop talking nonsense." The disembodied voice felt omnipresent, filling the void around me with its irritating calmness.

"This isn't nonsense!" My fists clenched at my sides. "How can I possibly have a second chance? I only acquired this 'precision' ability from you after he died! I jumped off that cliff, and the next thing I remember is plunging into total darkness, talking to you, the entity who calls itself the system." My voice wavered, a mixture of anger and despair leaking through.

"Yes, that is true. However, the idea that you can't have a second chance is simply not accurate, Jannette."

Oh, really? You tell me, system. What do you know about second chances? The bitterness… I can't hide it, my frustration rising like a tide.

"Look, Jannette, what you want is beyond my capabilities as the system."

"Really? You managed to revive me after I jumped off that cliff. How come you couldn't save him?" I shot back, my voice trembling with emotion.

"Because, Jannette, I didn't revive you. I saved you moments before your death. What you're asking for isn't a second chance; you want a restart. And that's not within my purview. What I offer is a second chance."

"Now tell me, what does a second chance mean to an entity like you?" I pressed, my breath quickening, a mixture of hope and skepticism swirling within me.

"It's an opportunity to try something again after failing once," the system replied, its tone almost condescending.

"Fuck! Please, just leave me alone for a bit. Let me have a cup of coffee." My voice cracked, the weariness of my soul pushing through.

"If you say so, Jannette, if you say so." The system's voice faded, leaving a lingering echo of its patronizing tone.

Damn it! Why couldn't it just let me die instead of offering this so-called second chance? My anger boiled over, and without thinking, I kicked the trash bin hard. It clattered to the floor, sending a cascade of empty wrappers and papers flying across the sterile room. The sound echoed like a gunshot, a small release of the pent-up frustration that had been clawing at my insides.

"Is this what you wanted?" I spat into the empty space, my chest heaving. "To be alive but shackled to this mess?" I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Just leave me in peace."

Silence enveloped me, thick and suffocating. I sank to the floor, back against the cold wall, my head in my hands. There had to be a way out of this nightmare—a way to make sense of everything I'd lost.

A nurse, timid and hesitant, approached. Her steps faltered, and she avoided eye contact. "Dr. Jannette," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The patient you operated on... he's asking for you."

I sighed and straightened my posture, forcing my irritation down. "I'll be there in a moment," I replied, trying to sound composed, though my heart was still racing.

Moments later, I found myself standing outside the patient's room. I hesitated, fingers brushing the cold door handle. After a deep breath, I walked in, forcing a smile.

To my surprise, there he was—Robert—sitting upright in bed, a movable table beside him with two Starbucks drinks and slices of cake. The sight caught me off guard, the gesture unexpected. "Doctor Jannette," Robert greeted with a warm smile. "I hope this is enough to thank you for the operation."

I blinked, unsure how to respond. "This is unnecessary," I muttered, clearing my throat. "Robert, right?"

He nodded, gesturing to the seat beside him. "Please, sit. I won't keep you long. I just wanted to talk. I hope I'm not taking you away from anything urgent."

I hesitated, staring at the untouched drink. I wasn't one for Starbucks; I usually made my own coffee. But the gesture felt... sincere. "No," I said softly, lowering myself into the chair. "This was my final operation, actually. I'm leaving the hospital."

Robert's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? I didn't mean to pry into personal matters."

"It's fine," I replied, taking the cup he offered. "It's not a secret. I... just need a change."

He sipped his coffee, nodding. "I understand. Sometimes, we all need a new path."

I stared down at my drink, the steam swirling from the cup. My mind wandered to the past, to that day in the operating room with my husband. His face, pale under the harsh lights, as I fought to save him. If only I had the precision I do now.

"If only I had 'precision' that day," I murmured under my breath, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Robert looked at me, puzzled. "Precision?" His question pulled me back to the present.

I swallowed, feeling my chest tighten. How could I explain the system to him? I couldn't, of course. "Yes," I nodded, forcing a weak smile. "Precision. It's what I specialize in. At least now." My heart ached at the memory of when I didn't have this gift. The day I lost my husband because I wasn't skilled enough... it still haunted me.

Robert nodded thoughtfully, taking another sip. "I wish I had a specialty like that. Something that defines me." He paused, his eyes darkening for a moment before continuing. "But I guess, in a way, I'm still figuring that out. If it weren't for... the tasks I've been given, I wouldn't have been in the accident that brought me here."

The way he emphasized "tasks" struck a chord. My thoughts whirled. Was he like me? Did some kind of system give him missions too? I studied him for a moment, wondering if there was more beneath the surface than I realized. But then again, I thought to myself "Who am I kidding, he's just a College guy who had an accident."

"You gave me a second chance, Doc," he said quietly, his words piercing the air. "After everything I've been through, I've learned something about myself. I've learned that I can push past limits I didn't even know existed. But none of that would've mattered if you hadn't operated on me. I wouldn't be sitting here, talking to you. You gave me a second chance to figure out my purpose."

I felt my throat tighten. The irony wasn't lost on me. Here was a man thanking me for a second chance when all I wanted was to escape mine. He didn't know the weight of that word—second chance. For him, it was hope. For me, it was a reminder of everything I couldn't fix, of the one person I couldn't save.

As we finished our coffee in silence, Robert's voice cut through the tension. "Don't lie to me, Doc," he said softly, his gaze locking with mine. "If you were given a second chance, would you take it?"

His question hung in the air, and I felt my pulse quicken. For the first time in what felt like ages, I allowed myself to consider the possibility. Could I really believe in second chances again?

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "Honestly? I don't know. Maybe... if I had something to go back to. But sometimes, a second chance isn't what you need. Sometimes, you just need to move forward."

Robert studied me for a moment, as if weighing my words, before he smiled. "Maybe. But I think, deep down, we all want that second chance. Even if it's just to prove something to ourselves."

His words lingered with me long after we parted ways. Maybe he was right. Maybe what I needed wasn't to run from my second chance but to face it head-on.

I stepped out of Robert's room, my mind still swirling with our conversation. The warmth of his gratitude lingered, but before I could fully process it, the familiar flicker of the system materialized in front of me, its presence an abrupt jolt to my thoughts.

A floating menu appeared.

[ Mission: I changed my mind ]

[ Description: Cancel your resignation and find your reliable ally ]

[ Rewards: A reliable ally ]

[ Penalty: Missing the chance to have a reliable ally ]

[ Duration: Mission must be completed 1 month from now ]

[ Will you accept the mission? ]

"Ah, just what I needed," I muttered sarcastically, eyebrows raised. "Another mission."

"That was unexpected, Jannette," the system replied, its voice smooth and almost amused.

I folded my arms, leaning against the cool, sterile wall of the hallway. "Why this sudden change? Why not just let me stew in my confusion?"

"Why did you suddenly have a change of heart regarding 'second chances'?" it pressed, as if genuinely curious.

I took a deep breath, letting my thoughts tumble out. "Well, who would have thought that a word from a stranger could help me truly understand the potential of the gift you gave me? It's like I was so caught up in my grief that I couldn't see what was right in front of me."

"Hahaha! I wish you luck, Jannette. This mission will be the longest I've ever assigned you. I won't tell you who this reliable ally is; you'll have to figure that out yourself."

I rolled my eyes, exasperated but amused. "Just when I thought you might actually change, you pull this. Typical."

"Old habits die hard," it replied, its tone playful yet cryptic.

I couldn't help but chuckle despite myself. "Well, I appreciate the pep talk, I guess. But do you ever stop to think how frustrating you can be? Here I am, trying to reconcile my past and you throw a new mission at me."

"Consider it an opportunity, Jannette. What you need right now is growth, and sometimes that comes from unexpected places."

"Yeah, like a box of chocolates," I retorted. "You never know what you're gonna get."

"Precisely," the system replied, a hint of amusement in its voice. "You're learning. Embrace this chance. Find this ally. It might just change everything for you."

I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms tighter as I pondered its words. "Fine. I'll accept the mission, but I'm not making any promises about how well I'll execute it. You know how unpredictable things can get."

"Best of luck, Jannette," the system said, fading into the ether, leaving me standing alone in the quiet hallway, thoughts racing.

I took a moment, absorbing the weight of the mission. A reliable ally? The idea felt both exhilarating and daunting. Who could it be? A spark of determination ignited within me. Maybe this time, I wouldn't just run away from my second chance. Maybe I'd embrace it, however messy that might be.

With renewed purpose, I headed toward the break room. There was a world out there, and perhaps, just perhaps, this ally could help me navigate it—if only I could find them.