Rex Mortal's eyes burned as he stared into the cold glow of his monitor. Another late night. Another spreadsheet mess dumped on him by the human migraine known as Lisa Rox.
Just as he hit "Save," the intercom buzzed.
"Rex, my cabin. Now."
Lisa's voice—sharp, annoyed, and unmistakably privileged—crackled through. His stomach sank. Nothing good ever followed that tone.
Rex sighed and rubbed his temples. Lisa Rox. Twenty-five. The CEO's darling daughter and a walking HR violation. Her biggest skill? Delegating tasks she didn't understand—usually to him.
For weeks, her so-called "urgent" data jobs had kept him trapped in the office long after sunset. Reports, budget files, random Excel tasks that made no sense. He'd reported it to HR. HR smiled. HR did nothing.
'Of course they didn't. She owns the damn company in everything but name,' Rex thought, grabbing his notebook and heading for her office.
He knocked on her door.
"Come in," Lisa said without glancing up. Her fingers swiped lazily at her phone, probably scrolling through memes or applying a dog filter to her selfies.
Her desk was more showroom than workspace—designer pens, a gold-plated mug, framed pictures of her pouting. No computer, no documents. No sign of actual work.
She slid a pen drive across the desk like it was beneath her to touch. "Here. Input this data before you leave. It's an Excel file, right? Just do the row thingy and the math stuff."
Rex blinked. "But I—"
Lisa held up a finger, still not looking at him. "I'm busy."
Busy.
He stared at her. "Busy" playing with her phone while he'd be stuck sorting through another file mess for the next two hours.
'I swear, one day I'll shove that pen drive—'
He cut the thought off before it finished. No. He needed this job. Not because he liked it—hell no—but because rent was due next week and job openings were drying up faster than his social life.
He took the pen drive and left, biting his tongue so hard he could taste blood.
---
By the time he was done, the office was empty. The clock read 1:07 a.m.
Rex leaned back in his chair, bones aching, stomach growling. His shoulders slumped as he packed up his bag. Another night, wasted.
Outside, the parking lot was a graveyard. His coworkers were long gone—those who didn't have Lisa's favor usually disappeared fast. He was the last rat still on the sinking ship.
No buses this late. No ride-shares either. His office was in an industrial zone where only cockroaches and unpaid interns survived after dark.
So he walked.
An hour on foot through half-lit streets and lonely roads.
'Again,' he muttered, stepping into the night. 'Fourth time this week. I should get frequent flyer miles for this route.'
The moon hung high, casting long shadows. The air was cool, tinged with the smell of damp concrete and pine. Rex walked in silence, counting steps, lost in thought.
'I used to dream of being a game developer. Or a comic artist. Something cool. Not… this. Not fixing formulas for some blonde demon with daddy issues.'
His legs ached. His spine protested with every step. His belly jiggled slightly with his stride—a reminder that instant noodles were not a diet.
But the night breeze helped. It cooled the sweat clinging to his neck and filled his lungs with clean air. The road was quiet.
Peaceful, even.
'At least no one's screaming Excel at me out here,' he thought.
After forty minutes, he hit the city border. Buildings began to rise. Lights flickered in the distance—his apartment was near. Maybe ten minutes more.
That's when he heard it.
A low growl.
He froze.
Up ahead, under a flickering streetlamp, shadows moved.
Stray dogs.
Four of them. Eyes glowing, tails twitching.
'Not tonight. Please, not tonight.'
Last summer, one had bitten his ankle. A mangy brown mutt with dead eyes and teeth like nails. He still had the scar. And the trauma.
He took a careful step forward.
The dogs rose. Their ears perked. One gave a short bark.
'No sudden moves, Rex. Just walk. Calm and—'
The dogs barked again, louder.
Then they ran.
"Shit!"
Rex bolted. His legs screamed in protest. His lungs burned. But the adrenaline did its work.
The dogs gave chase, barking wildly, their paws slapping the pavement like drums of doom.
Rex ran faster than he ever had in his life. Past shops, past trash bins, past an empty bus stop. His mind flashed images of being chewed alive.
'I am NOT dying like this! Not after surviving Lisa freaking Rox!'
Just a few more steps. He could see his apartment building down the block.
Then—his foot slipped.
Something squishy. Smooth. Treacherous.
He flew.
Time slowed.
His back hit the ground first. His head cracked against the pavement with a sickening thud.
White exploded behind his eyes. Pain bloomed.
Everything blurred.
The barking faded.
Silence.
Rex blinked through the dizziness. His body ached. Something warm trickled down his temple.
He sat up weakly and looked down.
No banana peel.
Just a brown smear stuck to the concrete.
The smell hit him a second later.
Dog shit.
"Are you kidding me?" he croaked, staring at the mess.
He coughed once, then twice.
His fingers twitched.
He collapsed backward, vision dimming.
'I… I died slipping on dog shit? That's it? No epic car crash, no villain attack, no alien abduction? Just poop?'
A wave of cold swept over him. His heartbeat slowed to a distant echo.
'Rex Mortal, twenty-seven. Overworked. Unappreciated. Alone. Died by crap. How poetic.'
Then—panic.
'Wait. Wait! I forgot to delete my browser history!'
His eyes snapped wide open.
"Oh shit!!"
That was his final thought.
His eyes remained open, fixed on the brown smear of doom.
---
White light.
Beeping.
A sharp scent of disinfectant.
Rex groaned.
His eyelids fluttered open. His vision cleared.
'A hospital?'
He tried to move—and froze.
His body felt… off. Too light. Too smooth.
He looked down at his hands.
Smaller. Younger.
Then—
---
AN:
Dialogs will be in " "
Thoughts will be in italic — 'like this'