Try again... there's no exit
The void didn't move.
It didn't hum, or buzz, or breathe.
It just… was.
Kade hovered in it—maybe standing, maybe floating, maybe curled into the world's saddest burrito. Hard to tell without gravity or walls or even a floor. Just endless dark stretching in every direction, lit only by the faint, pulsing glow of the words still hanging in front of him:
> Game Over
>Try Again
>Select Saved File
No music. No "You Died" splash screen. No death recap.
Just the cold truth of what happened.
Kade slowly raised his hand to his stomach. The place where that rusty sword had skewered him. Where he'd bled, and cried, and died.
He touched his pajama top.
No hole.
No blood.
No wound.
But the memory?
Still fresh. Still raw.
As if his brain hadn't gotten the memo that his body had respawned. His fingers trembled as they brushed the fabric, half-expecting to feel the jagged metal punch through again.
"...I felt it," he whispered. "That pain was real."
He curled his fingers tighter against his stomach, nails digging in slightly. Nothing. His heart thudded too fast in his chest—like it was trying to race back to the moment it stopped.
And somehow… even in this empty blackness… he still felt tired.
Emotionally? Sure.
Mentally? Absolutely.
But also something deeper. Like dying had drained something more than just blood.
Kade blinked, lifting his other hand toward the glowing options. The cursor pulsed next to Select Saved File—but he didn't move it. Not yet.
"Okay. Think. Either I'm dead and this is the world's most ironic afterlife… or I've glitched into a cosmic checkpoint screen run by Satan's IT department."
Silence answered.
His thumb hovered.
He wasn't ready to go back.
Not yet.
Perfect—here's the next beat, showing Kade hesitating at the menu and starting to grasp the strange logic of this world:
"…Alright," he muttered. "Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes."
He reached out—not with a mouse or controller, but just his hand—and tapped the words Try Again.
There was no click, no confirmation chime. But the glow shifted. The void shimmered.
A new prompt slid into view beneath it, appearing in clean, blocky letters:
Are you sure?
> Yes
>No
Kade blinked. "What the hell, this really is a game menu. Who coded this?"
He hovered his finger over Yes… then paused.
His gut twisted.
Something about it felt final.
He hesitated, then tapped No instead.
The second prompt vanished. The menu reset with a gentle flicker, like a loading screen retreating.
> Game Over
Try Again
Select Saved File
"…Okay," he muttered, backing away slightly. "So I've got options. Good. I think."
His mind raced.
If this was a game, he hadn't seen any save points. He didn't even remember saving.
Unless…
"Select Saved File," he whispered, eyes narrowing. "What kind of files are we talking about?"
He eyed the floating text like it might bite him, then reached a finger toward the new option, just to see what would happen.
Kade tapped Select Saved File.
The void rippled slightly—then new text faded into view:
> Slot 1 [Available]
Slot 2 [Empty]
Slot 3 [Empty]
Slot 4 [Empty]
Slot 5 [Empty]
>Back
No names. No explanations. Just a quiet list, like waiting shelves.
Kade squinted at them.
"Great. Five mystery boxes and not even a 'you died here' label. Who designed this menu, a sadist?"
He hesitated over Slot 1… then sighed and tapped Back.
The previous options returned, unchanged:
> Game Over
>ry Again
>Select Saved File
"…Still not VR," he muttered. "Unless it came with emotional trauma DLC."
Kade frowned and hovered over the last option:
> Game Over
"...Let's see what quitting looks like," he muttered, half-expecting it to boot him to a title screen—or maybe blissful unconsciousness.
He tapped it.
The void flickered. For a moment, everything dimmed—then a message pulsed into view in harsh red text:
> Error: Unable to leave.
Kade blinked. "…Huh?"
Another message appeared beneath it, glowing faintly:
> Access to End-State denied. Conditions not met.
"…Cool. Even quitting has requirements now."
He threw up his hands. "Can't die, can't quit. Whoever made this game has commitment issues."
The screen returned to:
> Game Over
>Try Again
>Select Saved File
Kade stared for a moment longer, then slowly muttered,
"…So I'm stuck in a cosmic softlock."
Kade rubbed his face with both hands, fingers dragging down his cheeks in slow disbelief. "Okay. No leaving. No 'off' switch. Guess it's time to hit the obvious one."
His finger hovered over:
> Try Again
He hesitated a beat, then tapped it.
The void pulsed—gently this time—and another prompt appeared:
> Are you sure you want to try again?
[Yes] [No]
"Guess I'm not the quitting type." He sighed. "Let's see what respawn hell looks like
He hit [Yes] without hesitation.
The void reacted immediately.
Light flared—too bright to look at—and the sensation of falling yanked his stomach up into his throat. Not physically falling, but like his soul got dragged sideways through static.
His breath caught—
Then the world returned with a thud.
Dust.
Sunlight.
The gaping ceiling above.
Kade gasped and stumbled back, slippers crunching on cracked tiles. He was standing again—in the ruins. Right where he'd started.
A bird called somewhere far above.
Vines curled lazily around the broken pillars. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor. The same heavy silence blanketed the place like a forgotten quilt.
And in front of him—just like before—stood the headless stone angel, wings broken, arms outstretched, as if begging for something it could never receive.
Kade took one look at it and muttered, "...Okay, that's creepy the second time too."
He touched his stomach. No blood. No pain.
But he remembered.
He felt it.
His hand trembled slightly as he whispered, "That wasn't a cutscene…"
Then, after a beat,"Okay. Round two."
Kade turned slowly, eyes scanning the ruins.
Everything was exactly how it had been the first time—the collapsed wall leading outside, the soft breeze carrying the scent of dry grass and sun-warmed stone. That path waited, open and wild.
But his eyes drifted to the other side.
To the stairway.
Still there. Still cracked and shadowed, tucked behind the arch like it was trying to hide its own existence.
That damp hallway. That awful silence. That thing.
He swallowed.
A chill crawled up his spine.
And without meaning to, his foot slid backward. Just a step. Just enough to put a little more distance between him and that dark stairwell.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "Still not over that."
He didn't turn his back to it. Just stood there, watching, breathing, remembering the teeth and the cold, rusted blade.
The ruins were silent.
And the stairs waited.