White Archive

Chapter 1-3

Chapter 1

2 Days

I crapped myself.

That was the first thing I noticed when I regained consciousness. Something warm was spreading below my waist. I tried to tighten up and stop the humiliation, but it was no use—my body wouldn't cooperate. So, yeah, no doubt about it, I had just shit myself, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Panic mixed with a strange sense of relief. Not the kind of relief my gut was experiencing, but something else entirely.

I was alive!

That alone was a miracle, especially considering what I'd just been through—a gunshot to the head, no less.

I tried to move my arms, but something was holding them down. I had to muster all my strength just to lift my head slightly and take a look at my body. For some reason, my head felt way too heavy for my neck. It turned out I was wrapped in some kind of sheet up to my neck, like a swaddled baby. Just a sheet. But my arms, neck, butt, and every muscle in my body were so weak that escaping from it seemed impossible.
I could only see the ceiling as I lay on something soft in what looked like... a bathtub? Something resembling a tub, at least.

Don't panic! Stay in control. I forced myself to think clearly—thankfully, I still could. That meant my brain wasn't damaged. Either that bastard missed or he wasn't using bullets. Maybe tranquilizers? The main thing was, I was alive.
I was lying in my own filth, unable to break free from the sheet. I quickly dismissed the idea of paralysis since I could still feel my fingers and toes. Conclusion: they injected me with something to paralyze me. That's why my sphincter wasn't working. Not great.

Conclusion number two: I was a prisoner. That was even worse. I tried not to think about what they had planned for me to avoid spiraling into full-blown panic. I pushed away thoughts of being doused in acid or being buried alive in a coffin.
My entire life had led to this moment, lying in this disgusting mess. It's no surprise it might end this way.

You might ask how I got myself into this situation. It's my own fault—stupid me.

Looking back now, I realize how pointless my life was. The only joys I had were drinking with my coworkers from the factory and playing poker with them. Years of playing had convinced me of my exceptional skills. And with that came a "brilliant" idea: why not use my talent to make some extra cash?

I gathered all my meager savings and headed to an underground casino. Getting a seat at the poker table among the players wasn't difficult; flashing some money was enough. That moment marked the beginning of the end for me.

At first, everything went incredibly well! I played like a pro. Within the first hour, my winnings had grown to the equivalent of a year's salary. But then... I lost it all, every last cent. And if only I had stopped there. But no, the thrill of the game pulled me deeper, dragging me into a disgustingly deep pit of debt.

The very next day, I found out I owed money not just to anyone, but, of course, to the most powerful and dangerous guy around. Naturally. He showed up at my apartment in person, flanked by two thugs. The conversation was short: pay up in three days, or expect broken bones—if I was lucky.

Of course, there was no way I could come up with that kind of money. I weighed my options—whether I could live without my arms and legs in this tricky situation—and decided I couldn't. So, I went for the extreme.

Robbery.

Five years after making that decision, I stepped out of the prison I barely survived. You'd think that would be the start of a new life, a fresh beginning. Yeah, right.