EXIT

The silence after survival is the loudest thing Félix has ever heard.

Felix turned around to see if if anyone had seen him but there was nobody at proximity. He could only hear the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze.

"What time of the year are we even?" he whispered.

He stood up and brushed the dust off his cloths.

Then from a distance he can see a hollow silhouette approaching, its form empty and unreadable.

As it gets closer the fear on his face turned to distress as he went from almost crying to laughing like someone who had lost grip on reality.

And with a vehement voice he shouted out loud : " Oh you've come to take my soul ? You bastard, what have you been waiting for ? Couldn't you see I lost my hold on living ? Why can't you just let me die ?" And with sobbing voice he added "hell is such a terrifying place. I should've lived a honest life back on earth."

"Huh ? It's a child" he murmurs as it gets within 5 feet of him.

"Are you scared ? Where are your parents ?" Still waiting for answers he stretches his arm to the child. "No this can't be possible. A child has no business being in hell. What could a child have done to deserve this ? God can be cruel at times." He leaves the child and starts walking away but freezes completely when the child uttered a single word "exit" and dashed away.

"What did he mean by that ? It's quite impossible to feel hungry here, I guess that was a way of welcoming me into my destiny. This is quite a funny place, it has police stations and all and people here don't seem to know there're in hell, or maybe they've gotten used to it." As he walked through the crowd a strange silence followed.

Then — a sentence drifts into his mind, quiet, familiar, terrifying:

"Those who die are not reborn — they are reflected."

His head jerks up. That line. That book.

Something about a mirror world, about people who couldn't die

.

"Now I remember, the book's name was exit, I have to get hold of it.

But now…

"It was fiction… wasn't it?" He kept lying to himself that this book couldn't be important to him that he didn't have to find it even though the book had reflected his situation twice now. "But it can't be. Where did I even find that book ?" He couldn't remember.

He decides to head to a library. And after hours and hours of walking he stumbles into one the « ROSEMARY LIBRARY ». How convenient. "If only I had a map of hell, this would've been easier."

He storms in, ignores the greetings of the library manager and starts looking for the Book.

But…

Nothing.

No listings. No records. No trace of the book.

He tries libraries. Archive forums.

Still nothing.

His heart beats faster. He starts to sweat. The panic claws back into him.

Now it was dark and he found nothing and the thought of ending it here came back to him but this time he shuffled it away. He was determined to find the book.

He decided not to sleep outside he was going to sleep where his heart wanted. "I'll live a far reckless life now that I can't die " He bursts out laughing. He then goes to the nearest museum he could find and bingo there was standing 1 mile away the ROSEMARY MUSEUM.

He smashes the side window with a brick and climbs in.

The alarm screams. He screams back.

Inside, dust and mold hang in the air like ghosts. His hands tremble as he rifles through the stacks, tearing covers, knocking over shelves.

As he went deeper something triggered him.

He finds a shelf labeled Sheol. Glass-covered. Locked.

He shatters it.

Fingers bleeding, he pulls out books, and books, tossing them aside one after another — until finally, there it is: a Red book titled "exit".

His hands shake as he opens it.

Before he can read the first word, he hears footsteps behind him.

"Hands where I can see them."

Félix turns slowly.

Two police officers. Flashlights aimed at his chest.

It's them.

The same ones from before — the ones who told him they couldn't find his house. The ones who looked confused by his existence.

.

"Put the book down," one of them says.

They approach cautiously, cuffs ready. He doesn't resist.

Félix stares at them.

One of them shows recognition :

"It's you again you punk" " I knew something was off with this guy"

The other replies "was he attempting to turn himself in back then ?" "But still he has no trace of existence."

The police discussion was a pain in Felix's ears.

"Can't you guys see where're in hell ? This misery. Wake up, it's like you guy's have becomes use to this"

One of them bursts out laughing. "We should've sent you to a psychiatric when we had the chance."

The ride in the transport van was suffocating.

Félix sits chained to a steel bench, the book still echoing in his mind. Its cover burned into his memory.

One officer rides up front. The other sits across from him, silent, watching.

"What even is he?" the officer mutters under his breath.

Félix meets his gaze. There's fear behind those eyes.

The van enters a long, empty tunnel. Streetlights flicker in and out of existence through the tiny window.

Then — everything shakes.

The van lurches sideways. Tires screech. Metal groans.

A deafening BOOM slams from above.

Smoke pours through the vents.

The officer shouts something, but it's swallowed by the chaos.

A figure drops onto the roof.

Then everything explodes into motion.

A side door is ripped open.

Gunfire bursts in the distance — sharp, surgical, controlled.

The masked figure moves like a phantom: black coat, gloved hands, full-face mask with no markings. Félix is yanked from the van before he even has time to scream.

They sprint into the smoke.

Félix stumbles, dragged by the stranger through the dark, up an embankment, through a metal gate, into a hidden passageway under the road.

Only once they're clear, and silence returns, does the stranger stop.

They turn.

They remove the mask.

A man— young, scar on her cheek, sharp eyes like razors.

He looks at Félix like he's a familiar stranger.

"you've finally showed up"

"I was waiting for you".