Another shot. Another life taken.

  The body slumped first to realize that it was dead, collapsing onto the dusty floor in one unceremonious smack, a disturbing heavy impact, followed by a flow of blood from the freshly made hole in the skull. It was quick, clean, and precise, almost too much for Stellan's taste.

  The reptilian-turned-rifleman lay sprawled on his rifle, the weapon serving as the last thing that cushioned his lifeless body's fall to the ground. His expression still held that arrogant smirk that had almost been the last thing Stellan saw, frozen in time. But now, it would be the last movement his face would ever make.

  Stellan had raised his hand instinctively when the gunshot sounded, subconsciously he formed a futile attempt to divert the blast. But it was the only option that he'd had during that split second. He then slowly removed the cover his hand had made from his gaze, lowering his arm, only to see a familiar sight standing in the doorway.

  It was Terry, holding the revolver that had ended his opponent's life, the barrel still smoking.

  "Thirty XP? You gotta be kidding me!?," he claimed with a rather stoic expression. the very same he'd worn during the execution Stellan had witnessed earlier.

  "Terry?" Stellan asked weakly, who was still unsure if he was seeing things.

  "The one and only," Terry responded confidently.

  He then took a few measured steps to where Stellan was laying sprawled. Terry paused for a moment, looming over him, observing Stellan's state as if measuring him to determine if he were a threat, calculating his poor state with unknown intent.

  This made Stellan's brow furrow in a puzzled expression. But it was soon erased when Terry offered a helping hand, extending his reach warmly, which Stellan begrudgingly accepted after a moment's hesitation, gripping his forearm for leverage.

  "You okay bud?" Terry asked after pulling him up.

  "I almost died… but yeah…" Stellan answered, voice hoarse while brushing himself off.

  It then dawned on him.

  All the circumstances that had transpired once he took in the lifeless bodies of his former pursuers scattered around the room. He couldn't believe that he'd survived this nightmare, that he was still breathing. But his ever-growing guilt was stronger, heavier, since he was now an accomplice to murder. And even worse, far worse, he was a murderer himself, blood still drenching on his hands.

  "I thought there were three? Where's the other?" Terry asked, scanning the room to find the missing raider, head swiveling.

  But Stellan never responded verbally, he couldn't find the words. He didn't need to do anything since Terry saw his haunted expression, he instantly understood what it meant.

  "The first's are always the hardest," his coworker stated, a gesture of comfort that didn't live up to the expectation, falling flat prematurely. "You'll get used to it," .

  Stellan bit his lip hard, tasting copper. His guilt ate at him, consuming the identity he painstakingly built. How could he face his parents now, who were devout believers in peace and forgiveness? They were always preaching about loving one another, to spread peace instead of violence, to turn the other cheek.

  How about his peers? Could he still look them straight in the eyes even with knowing what he'd done, what he'd become?

  And how about his victims? Would they forgive him for what he did regardless if it was an accident or not?

  Stellan was certain that they would not, could not. But it was finished nonetheless. He just needed to accept the consequences, to live with it.

  "What happened to the others?" asked Stellan, a method to divert his attention from the spiral, changing the subject.

  Terry was busy scrounging out whatever items he could from one of the corpses. His first target was the young body of the dual wielder, whose head remained tilted back, staring at the high dusted ceiling with empty eyes. Spurting blood from his throat while his mouth hung agape, pooling blood inside like a gruesome cup. It was a nasty end, brutal, one that made Stellan wince in disgust, turning his eyes away.

  Stellan waited for Terry's reply as if he was owed it. But he was still busy methodically working through his search, checking the dead’s pockets. Before Stellan pushed the question further, growing more impatient.

  "There were five more guys following me," said Stellan, holding his left armpit to massage the opened wound.

  Terry turned his neck toward him and observed, chuckling darkly, that he'd found a watch that was attached to the dual wielder's wrist before answering. "Three… and I've taken care of them," he said while prying the watch off.

  "How?"

  "I have my methods," Terry answered vagueyl.

  "Are they dead?"

  "More or less,"

  "These guys… What do they want? Why are they so eager to kill?" Stellan added another question, observing the dead body of the rifleman, whose arrogant expression remained painted even through his last moments.

  "Because they have to…" answered Terry, smiling slightly as he took turns removing the earrings from the youth's corpse, working the metal free. He pried one and then the other in quick fashion.

  "Why?"

  "They grabbed the opportunity…" Terry said while pocketing the jewelry.

  "Opportunity? What?! By killing random people?" Stellan snarled in disbelief, voice rising. Eyeing the revolver that he'd thrown toward his former hostage, as it had landed near the corpse's oversized pants..

  "Pretty much…" Terry answered, who was now checking the opened mouth of the young corpse, seeing a golden tooth and considering whether to pull it out.

  "Pretty much? This is not like… killing some depressive obese man… this is…" Stellan stuttered, struggling to find proper words that could describe this sense of dread.

  "What?" Terry interjected, who was now considering grabbing the dual pistols that were scattered on the ground that were littering the floor.

  "I… Can we just find a way to return? I can't… I can't do this anymore…" Stellan stuttered with his voice breaking.

  Terry then stood up from his pilfering, brushing his hands to remove anything unwanted, unsure whether he was satisfied with the haul. He walked toward Stellan who was in an inconsolable state, barely holding it together.

  "We both want to go home…" Terry stated, fiddling with the earrings in his thumbs like some sort of toy. "We just need to wait," he added, heading in the direction of the rifleman's corpse.

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  "How long?!" Stellan bellowed, his mind was in a depressive state, he was at the brink of breaking down, experiencing morally devastating scenarios that made his routine life meaningless, everything he'd known shattered.

  "As long as we can…" Terry answered simply, kneeling.

  "I can't man… just…" Stellan stuttered with tears forming in his eyes, serving as the only barrier preventing his sobbing.

  "The opportunity will come… we just need to be patient," Terry stated, kicking the corpse of the rifleman over onto its back with his boot. The rifle that had provided as the body's last cushion still remained intact beneath it, although Terry was not amused by this. Before proceeding to kneel down and continue with yet another round of scavenging, methodical looting.

  "You never told me what kind of opportunity you were waiting for," Stellan asked with a faltering voice. "What does this trial have to do with this opportunity of yours… that you're so bent on waiting for?" he demanded, his wounds on the side only growing heavier. But it was much more tolerable compared to when he'd gotten shot before.

  Terry paused mid-search. Then continued to rummage through the bloodied jacket of the rifleman's corpse, checking the pockets to see if there was anything of value hidden. There was a folded picture of a family photo, as big as his palm, warm smiling faces from a time before.

  But he didn't take his time to check, tossing it aside like garbage. He rummaged further, only to find cartridges filled with bullets, brass casings. It only suited the rifle that lay bare, specific ammunition, so he tossed it away nonetheless.

  "Tell me… there's bound to be some conditions for ending this… you owe me answers and I want them now," Stellan interrupted, whose face winced from time to time. He could feel the blood pooling on his side, warm and sticky, but the pain was still limited.

  "You really don't have any idea?" Terry asked, glancing back.

  "Do I look like I have answers to you?" Stellan shot back, frustrated.

  "You never told me what else you saw… in that invitation," Terry asked, still rummaging without looking back at Stellan.

  "Why the fuck does it matter now?" Stellan exasperated.

  "Oh it does matter… try to remember," Terry stated, his hands still moving, now checking the pockets in the corpse's pants, patting them down to see if there was anything left to search.

  "I can't… I don't have time for that shit man…" Stellan refused, stuttering in his words, shaking his head.

  The mood went sour all of a sudden. Stellan felt the air become colder. A sense of caution rang inside his head like alarm bells, warning him. But there were no pursuers left, so where would this danger come from? Where was the threat?

  The answer lay in the unkempt man up front. Whose hands stopped from searching, freezing mid-motion. Turning his neck subtly, just enough for the half portion of his face to be seen in profile. His expression was dark, dangerous.

  Reminding Stellan sharply that who he was talking to was as remorseless as the pursuers, maybe worse.

  "Try. To. Remember," Terry said slowly, like a threatening command that Stellan was forced to consider.

  "I don't…. It was some kind of animation, where the dragon… the gold flying one got coiled by the snake," Stellan stammered..

  "What?! Is that true?" Terry shouted, abruptly standing in shock.

  "Do you think I get anything from lying?!" Stellan answered, who was irritated from the lack of trust.

  "No… It's just peculiar," Terry said, his voice dropping.

  Terry then patted the dust out of his sleeves, brushing himself off, then scanned the vast room. He slowly approached Stellan, who was on the verge of breaking down completely.

  "Every trial has conditions set, and I'm not stupid enough to not ask why," Stellan said, forcing his voice to harden. "So tell me right this instant, what the fuck do I need to do to go back home," he threatened for answers, believing that it was the only thing that would keep his mind from going completely insane..

  "It's an annual Trial… Well in our world's time at least," Terry started the explanation, putting on the earring from the corpse to his own ears. "For the candidates who refuse to go back, it has been hundreds if not thousands of years since then,"

  "And this trial happens once every hundred years in this world… As such, many candidates willingly joined to get a chance at the rewards it might have," he explained.

  "Rewards? What? You mean to tell me you wasted years of your life for that?" Stellan asked, who was not fond of the reasoning.

  "It's not just that… many notable figures changed the trajectory of their lives once they got their hands on it… and I'm planning to be next," Terry answered, finishing applying the metal earrings to his ears.

  "So? My question stands… What are the conditions for finishing this trial?" Stellan pressed.

  Terry then pulled a folded piece of paper from underneath his denim pocket, before unfolding it carefully to show Stellan. It was a map, although not a remarkable one, aged and worn. There was a tear at its upper left corner that made translating the full picture impossible.

  "Among a hundred participants, maybe even thousands joined… with the sole goal of acquiring this," Terry added, fanning the paper.

  "A piece of paper?" Stellan asked.

  "Yes… you need five pieces to remake the map, the very same map that leads to where the trial ends," Terry voice became excited. "Once someone finally completes the map, every candidate will return to the original world,"

  "And with our recently departed guest's appearance, I managed to get a hold of the fifth one," Terry added proudly, showing an old torn piece of paper in his unoccupied hand, the similar hue and size to the missing part of the map.

  "So? Am I supposed to congratulate you? Does that mean we can go home?" Stellan mocked, unamused by Terry's reasoning

  "Yes… although there's another condition that is needed in order to fulfill the trial," Terry stated, turning his back to Stellan dismissively. Returning the uncompleted map to his denim pocket, he then approached the direction where the entrance of the room was.

  Stellan did not understand how it happened. But he then checked his surroundings carefully, only to see that the arrays of fridges and toilets that had served as the background in the earlier chaos, vanished completely.

  What remained were the three corpses that Stellan was mostly responsible for. The floor had returned to its original state; bare, rubbled, with an unsightly addition of blood and death. Stellan couldn't understand what had just happened.

  But he was certain that where they'd been was not a trick of his mind.

  And all fingers pointed toward the man who now kneeled in front of the sniper's corpse, rummaging through the body with no consent.

  "Do you plan on telling me?" Stellan asked Terry, his voice tense.

  He didn't move from his position. He was still near the two corpses that had been picked clean by Terry.

  The air felt prickly, it was odd, unsettling.

  He felt a sort of sensation that portrayed danger. Sweat grew on his neck, beading, the hair on his forearms straightened, standing on end. He could feel the deadly killing intent radiating but was still hesitant about where it came from, uncertain of the source. His eyes slowly darted toward his revolver that lay on the ground.

  The first weapon he'd gotten ever since he'd arrived in this world. The weapon he'd received from his missing coworker. The very same weapon that had killed a man point-blank, the one who just ended a life.

  "Terry… I got one more question," Stellan asked, his throat working as he gulped.

  His senses screamed at him to run, to escape, or if he couldn't, at least arm himself immediately. But he never knew why..

  "What is it?" Terry asked, still rummaging through the sniper's corpse, prying the ring from the stiff fingers.

  "You told me that revolver you shot me with has no bullets left…" Stellan asked, inching closer to the revolver on the ground subtly, hoping that his instincts were wrong, praying to whoever was hearing to make it so. "You never showed me the chamber…".

  "Yes… I never did," Terry stated, stopping his pilfering midway..

  Stellan felt the sense of death, overwhelming.

  It wasn't the same as the sensation of fear he'd felt from the chase of his pursuers, it was different entirely.

  Rather this felt even more sinister, more immediate, demanding his body to move far away from where he stood, screaming danger. But he couldn't move, couldn't run. He wanted answers, needed them.

  "I remember how much I hated how quick you can catch on to things…" Terry answered, his voice changed to a darker tone.. Standing slowly while Stellan observed with growing dread, his muscles tensing.

  Terry then turned his body slowly, so suspensefully that by the time he'd finished the rotation, Stellan's sweat had now trickled down to his chin with cold drops.

  "Well there's no use playing nice then," Terry stated with a cold voice, before another gunshot rang through the air followed immediately by a mind-rending scream after.