Chapter 309

He had always been invisible. To the world, to his family, to the people around him, he was just another face in the crowd. A worker, a number, a cog in the machine. Then the machine broke him. He had never been sick, never had any major health issues, until that day.

The fever came first, then the ache in his chest, a tightness that wouldn't go away. At first, he tried to ignore it. Maybe it was just stress, maybe it was nothing. But then the pain worsened. He couldn't breathe right, couldn't walk without feeling dizzy. So, he did what everyone told him to do when something wasn't right: he went to the doctor.

It was the start of his downfall.

He waited for hours in the crowded, sterile waiting room. When his name was finally called, he was ushered into a cold examination room, the walls blank, the floor tile so white it seemed to glow.

The doctor, a bored-looking man in his mid-forties, glanced at him, then at the computer screen. He asked a few questions, jotted down some notes, and finally, after an uncomfortable pause, he spoke.

"You're not eligible for treatment under your current insurance. It's not covered," the doctor said flatly.

"What do you mean? I'm sick! You have to help me!" The words came out sharp, panic creeping in.

The doctor glanced up, eyes cold. "There's nothing I can do. You'll have to get the right insurance first."

His world went silent. The words echoed in his mind. "You'll have to get the right insurance first." As though his health was something that could be bought.

He left the hospital that day, his chest heavier than it had ever been. The pain intensified, gnawing at his every step. But what could he do? The system was broken. His life was worthless to them.

He walked the streets for days, struggling to breathe, battling against the world that didn't care. Then he thought of them. The ones responsible for all this. The CEOs. The ones who made billions while people like him were left to die. The thought consumed him, gnawing at him like the illness itself.

He could almost see their faces now, behind their polished desks in their glass towers, far above him. He knew who they were, where they lived, what they did. The ones who made the rules, who decided what mattered.

And they would pay.

He found a sashimi knife in the kitchen drawer. The cold metal felt right in his hand, as if it had always been meant for this. For them.

He didn't sleep for days. He didn't eat. He had a mission now, and it was all that mattered. He began his hunt, one CEO at a time. He started small—local figures in the insurance industry, the ones who controlled access to healthcare.

He moved quickly, silently, his sashimi knife finding its mark in the dark, unmarked offices. One after another, they fell, the blood spilling as easily as it had been spilled from him. They thought they were untouchable. They were wrong.

The thrill of it was strange. It wasn't just revenge—it was something darker. It was control. It was the feeling of power he'd never known. Each strike was a step closer to something he could never explain, something that filled him with both dread and a twisted kind of satisfaction.

But they weren't enough. The CEOs were too well protected, their bodies surrounded by guards, their offices sealed off. He needed something bigger. He needed to send a message that couldn't be ignored.

As the bodies piled up, the world began to take notice. At first, it was just whispers in the media. The police were baffled, chasing shadows, unable to catch him. But the more he killed, the more people began to understand. They saw his point. They knew what he had been through, what they all had been through. They too had been forgotten by the system, abandoned in their time of need.

And they began to rally behind him.

Messages started appearing on walls, in online forums, in the comments sections of every news article. People spoke of the injustice. Of the CEOs who hoarded wealth while people like them were left to suffer. They spoke of solidarity, of revenge, of a world where the rich would no longer be allowed to thrive at the expense of the poor.

They called it the rise of the forgotten.

And it wasn't just words. It was action. It was a movement. People everywhere took to the streets, rioted against the system, against the police who protected it, against the politicians who had turned a blind eye. People marched, screamed, and fought. They knew the price of change, and they were willing to pay it.

It didn't take long before the police began to crack. Their authority weakened, their power diminished. The corporate guards who had once seemed invincible were scattered, no longer able to hold the city's pulse in their iron grip. The people had become their own force.

And in the center of it all stood him. The man with the sashimi knife.

The night he finally reached the last CEO, the one who had been the hardest to get to, the one who had the most security, he knew it was the end of the line. There would be no more hiding. No more running. He had done what he set out to do.

The CEO's mansion was quiet, surrounded by high walls and guards, but they didn't matter anymore. The people had turned the tide. They were everywhere now, standing in the streets, in the shadows, watching him. They wanted this, they needed it. He had become their symbol.

He walked into the mansion's lobby, his steps steady. The CEO was sitting in his office, looking over papers, unaware that his life was about to end. He didn't even see the knife coming. It happened fast, a strike that was both brutal and final. The blood spattered the desk, the papers, the polished floor. And just like that, it was over.

But as he stood there, looking down at the man who had caused him so much pain, a strange sense of emptiness washed over him. The anger, the fire that had driven him for so long, began to fizzle out. He wasn't sure what he was feeling anymore. Was it satisfaction? Relief? Or was it just the crushing weight of everything that had come before?

He looked around, the mansion now eerily quiet. The revolution had come. The world had changed. But what did it all mean?

Then, a sound broke the silence. A voice. Soft at first, then growing louder.

"We're with you," they said.

He turned, startled. It wasn't just one person. It was a crowd. People from all over, people who had followed him, people who had understood his pain. They had come to witness the final act, the moment when everything would change.

The police were nowhere to be found. The guards had long since disappeared. The world had abandoned them all. The anarchy age had begun.

But as the crowd closed in around him, he felt something shift inside him. It wasn't fear. It wasn't regret. It was something else—something that had been missing for so long.

He had found his place in the world, and for the first time, he wasn't invisible anymore.