No Escape From Tarkov

Chapter 8 - Fourth Time's the Charm?

Ah, yes, darkness, my old friend.

How long has it been since we last met? Less than a day? An hour? Felt like forever, really. Hey, would you like some coffee? Or tea? Yeah? With two spoons of sugar as well? Guess what; fuck you, the only thing you're getting is a big, fat L.

I'm getting tired of this repetitive bullshit. Is this- yup, another fucking dream, great. I wonder what sort of deep meaning or moral lesson I'm going to have the displeasure of enduring.

...

So far, nothing has happened. Everything was pitch black, just like my soul.

...

Okay, I need to tone down the edgy thoughts. The first few times were fairly entertaining, but telling the same joke over and over again makes it worse and distasteful, and it's very lazy.

Well, at least I don't have to deal with her while I'm away. Fuck, am I ever going to catch an actual break from this madness?

Honestly, what the actual hell is wrong with them? I'm a nobody! I have little to no redeeming qualities! I made it clear that I don't care, so why do they keep messing with me? I just want an out, damn it! God, am I asking for too much? I just want to escape this hellhole, and yet, you keep flipping the bird-

"Yo! What's up?" An echo came out of nowhere, I couldn't pinpoint the source despite scanning around in a full circle. It also sounded familiar, too familiar.

"W-who's there?!" I replied, knowing I'd probably get some riddle or vague answer in return.

"Bratan, are you blind? I'm right here!" A single blink later, and everything changed.

I was no longer in the empty void. My feet touched solid ground, I regained all my senses; I could breathe again, I could hear my lungs working, I could see...

The university.

I was inside the university, to be more specific; a classroom, the classroom. The same one where I'd attended my last lesson all these months ago. I was sat on my good old chair in front of my good old desk, all the silly little drawings I'd made with my friend were still there.

I gazed at the windows, they were in prime condition and without a scratch, but they showed a perfect pitch white, as if the world ceased to exist outside of the room.

And beside me was Pavel, just sitting there, wearing the same baggy clothes with the three classic stripes.

Pavel.

PAVEL!

"P-... Pavel? I-is that..." I gasped, rapidly blinking in shock, believing that at some point he'd disappear into thin air and the illusion would end.

"What's wrong, brat? You look like you saw a ghost or something," he chuckled, taking out some of his stuff from a backpack which sat beside his chair, leaning on the right front leg.

I was on the verge of tears, "Y-you're... I-I," but for some reason, they just wouldn't come out.

He raised his hand in front of my face, interrupting my sad attempt at formulating a response, "Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm dead."

Even though I knew it was the truth, my heart hurt. It hurt. It hurt so much.

"..." I didn't have the strength to open my mouth, my jaw was locked like the entrance to the Bunker. I feared that if I did manage to overcome my fear, my vocal cords would play a distressing melody composed of sobs and wails unfit for a man. It was as if a cork was shoved down my throat, and my stomach was brewing up a storm of carbonated trauma, no sugar.