Chapter one: The End
Chapter summary: A young man dies and the story begins. Constructive feedback appreciated.
Disclaimer: I don't own Re:Zero.
"Woo, finally. I hit rank 100. Took long enough, for real," The young man remarked unenthusiastically.
Said man was seated in a plush chair, a wide monitor stretched out before him. The room he was seated in was compact, with clothing and junk strung about. It was only superficially messy, and he would definitely clean it later.
Definitely.
"–And with that, I. Am. Done."
With that thought in mind, he immediately collected his rewards and left the game.
The game in question is known as Destiny 2.
"Welp. I'm beat. And hungry," The man said while standing up, chair creaking at his considerable weight being removed. He moved towards the kitchen intent on another frozen dinner for the night, then turned around instead towards the bathroom.
"Better wash up first," he decided. The cold water did not do much to rejuvenate him, but it did make him feel a little better. After drying his face, the young man took note of his appearance in the mirror for the first time in two weeks.
"Fuck."
A pudgy, round face covered in stubble looked back at him. Dull brown eyes with bags, nearly black and almost constantly lidded, gazed at him with unabashed disgust. The thick, rounded glasses he wore almost made him look comical. The large nose and lips characteristic of many African American males were present as well. He wore a black shirt and baggy jeans. They did little to mask his obese physique. In short, the man looked rather repulsive.
He looked on for a little longer before mentally shrugging and leaving the room.
Ka-chunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
As the microwave sprang to life, the young man leaned against the kitchen counter and pulled out his phone. He was looking for one app in particular.
"Oh, there it is. Not sure why I always forget," He commented idly while opening it. It was a task manager app. There was only one task left on it. Hit rank 100 in the new season (Destiny 2). He tapped it and it disappeared. The checklist was named bluntly.
Shit to do before I kill myself
These tasks included noteworthy things including: Defeating the Abyss Watchers in DS3, completing a dungeon in Destiny 2, getting a job, graduating with a degree, and losing his virginity. He visibly cringed while remembering that one.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
His reminiscing was interrupted, thankfully. He peeled the film off from his meal and mixed it with a spoon. It smelled decent, at least. He grabbed a soda before heading back to his room with his dinner.
"Not much for a last meal, but it'll do," He mused.
The method he had chosen was rather simple. A revolver. He couldn't even remember when or where he had gotten his hands on it, but it was a good choice nonetheless. High stopping power. High caliber. High enough that there would be no chance of survival. He'd heard enough stories of people who survived point-blank shots with other handguns. He wanted no risks. A clean shot to the temple. Rather simple.
The young man ate through his meal with practiced ease. He had eaten this exact meal hundreds, if not thousands of times. He felt rather calm considering what he was about to do. He had planned this all out. Written a will, however short. An equally short suicide note addressing his remaining family, which was just his brother. Ensured that what little assets he had would be moved to where they should. He had painstakingly ensured every single angle to his suicide. He wanted to eradicate any notion that this was emotional.
The man blinked and realized he had already finished his food and drink. Internally he chastised himself, though he knew it would change nothing. Had the man been willing to live to the next day he would have done it again. He decided against picking up the empty dish.
It doesn't matter anymore.
That same reason is why he decided not to wash the dishes piling in the sink. The same reason he didn't bother to clean his room. Or answer his phone. Or go outside. Or live. It was the reason he was able to gently grab the revolver with a steady hand. It had exactly one bullet in the chamber. He would only need one. He put down his glasses and took a deep breath. He was steady. Steady. Slowly, slowly, he brought the revolver to his right temple, pressing into it. It felt cold, but an odd sense of calm came from it.
The man, utterly numb, did not have any final words. He didn't even think. No apologies, no last minute panic. There was nothing. Nothing at all. The pitiful wretch squeezed the trigger.
Then he knew nothing.
Author's notes: I had this done ages ago, I just delayed it because I hated how the other two chapters turned out. No particular reason for name-dropping Destiny 2, I just like the game. Chapter 3 will actually be set in Re:Zero. Warning in advance that most of these chapters will likely be short. That's just how I prefer writing.