The transition was as abrupt as it could be.
First, I was where I was, then all of a sudden…
darkness.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not the normal kind, not the kind you get when you close your eyes.
No.
This darkness felt wrong.
Oppressive, heavy, as if the darkness itself was alive.
For a brief moment, I simply stood there: confused, disoriented.
Then my memories returned: the rooftops, the gunshot, Officer Sakamoto, Emi, the pain…
Right.
I died.
Again.
Honestly, that realization should’ve bothered me more than it did.
Maybe because this wasn’t exactly my first time, or maybe my brain had finally given up trying to process all the insanity.
Either way, I was dead.
I looked around.
A hallway, or at least something resembling one, stretched endlessly in both directions.
The walls, the floor, the ceiling: everything was swallowed by darkness.
The only thing visible was a single door standing several meters in front of me.
Just one.
Nothing else.
“…Well,” I stared at the door.
“That’s not ominous at all.”
My voice echoed, then disappeared.
No response, no sound, nothing.
Just silence, a very uncomfortable silence.
I took a cautious step forward, then immediately stopped.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
I couldn’t explain it; I couldn’t see, hear, or smell anything.
Yet every instinct I possessed was screaming at me: Run.
Leave.
Get away.
Now.
A chill crawled down my spine.
Slowly, instinctively, I turned around.
Darkness, nothing but darkness.
And yet, I knew.
Somewhere out there, far away, something was watching me.
I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know why, but I knew.
It knew I was here.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water.
For the first time since arriving in the High Rise Invasion world, no, for the first time since my very first death, I felt genuine fear.
The kind of fear that bypasses logic entirely.
The kind that grips your heart and refuses to let go.
The kind that tells you, with absolute certainty, that if whatever was out there reached you, you would suffer a fate far worse than death.
Then it moved.
I didn’t see it or hear it, but my entire body jolted violently.
Every single survival instinct I had immediately started screaming: Run.
Run.
RUN.
Without thinking, I sprinted straight toward the door.
Anywhere was better than here.
I grabbed the handle, twisted, and threw myself through.
I woke up gasping, my body shooting upright as cold sweat covered my entire back.
For several seconds, I simply sat there breathing, trying and failing to calm my racing heart.
A ceiling.
A normal-looking, unremarkable, suspiciously non-horrifying ceiling.
Good.
That was good, very good.
Immediately, I checked my body: arms, legs, neck.
Everything seemed intact.
More importantly, I looked down.
“…Still there.”
Excellent.
Humanity had been preserved.
Only after confirming the continued existence of my most important asset did I finally inspect my surroundings.
A bedroom.
A normal bedroom.
Well, mostly normal.
The layout was unfamiliar and the furniture was different, but somehow, instinctively, I knew this room belonged to me.
I stood up and immediately approached the nearest window carefully, very carefully, as recent experiences had made me somewhat paranoid.
Peeking outside, I saw houses, roads, people.
Normal people.
No masks, no murder bridges, no giant men carrying sledgehammers.
Just ordinary people living ordinary lives.
I stared for several seconds, then slowly let out a breath.
“…Okay.
I’ve definitely been isekai’d again.”
I remained seated on the bed for several minutes, just staring at the floor and trying to process everything.
Honestly, my brain was having a hard time keeping up.
A few moments ago, I was crossing rooftops with Emi and Officer Sakamoto, then I got shot and died.
Again.
Then I woke up in a creepy hallway straight out of a horror movie, something in that hallway almost gave me a heart attack, and now, somehow, I was here: alive, again.
I massaged my temples.
Over the years, or however long I’ve been getting isekai’d now, I’ve learned something important: thinking too hard rarely helps.
Unfortunately, my brain apparently didn’t get the memo, because right now it was working overtime.
First things first: I died.
I’m absolutely certain about that.
The pain, the blood, the feeling of my body collapsing, I remembered all of it clearly.
Which meant everything that happened in the High Rise Invasion world was real: Officer Sakamoto, Emi, the Masks, everything.
That thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I wondered if they survived.
I hoped they did, especially Emi.
The girl had already gone through enough.
I silently stared at the wall for several seconds, then shook my head.
No.
Thinking about them now wouldn’t accomplish anything; I had more immediate problems.
Namely, why was I alive again?
The obvious answer was simple: I’ve been isekai’d.
Again.
Honestly, at this point, I was becoming something of a professional.
Which raised a rather concerning question.
“…Do I get isekai’d every time I die?”
The room remained unhelpfully silent.
“…Fair enough.”
Still, the possibility was there.
And if that was true, then what exactly was that hallway?
The moment that thought appeared, my entire body involuntarily shuddered.
No.
Absolutely not.
I wasn’t thinking about that place, not right now, and not ever if possible.
For the first time since all this madness started, the idea of dying suddenly didn’t seem very appealing, which, honestly, was probably a good thing.
A healthy fear of death builds character.
Probably.
With nothing better to do, I decided to investigate my surroundings.
Knowing the “me” of this world was surprisingly easy.
Just like before, I was still me: still a high school student, still living alone, still suspiciously parentless.
Honestly, at this point, I was beginning to suspect that whatever cosmic entity was responsible for this had unresolved family issues.
I was about to continue searching the room when something caught my eye.
Resting quietly beside the bed was a backpack, a very familiar backpack.
“…No way.”
I immediately grabbed it.
There was no mistaking it: this was mine, the exact same backpack I’d been carrying in the High Rise Invasion world.
Slowly, I opened it.
Inside were clothes, food, water, medicine, flashlights, rope, batteries.
Useful things, very useful things.
Everything looked exactly the same as I remembered.
Then I found something else: a pistol.
“…No freaking way.”
I immediately picked it up: the same scratches, the same wear marks, the same pistol I’d found in the High Rise Invasion world.
I quickly checked the magazine: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
Still loaded.
“…Huh.”
I stared at the gun, then at the bag, then back at the gun.
Everything I had been carrying when I died was all here.
“…That’s concerning.” Very concerning.
Because if my theory was correct, then it meant whatever I had on me at the moment of death carried over to the next world, which raised several questions, none of which sounded particularly comforting.
Questions I had absolutely no answers to.
Honestly, at this point, I was beginning to suspect that reality itself had simply given up.
Either that, or the thing in that hallway had a very strange sense of humor.
Not that I was complaining.
Having my equipment back was great; it meant that no matter what kind of world I’d been thrown into this time, I wouldn’t be completely helpless.
And speaking of worlds…
I still had absolutely no idea where I was.
That needed to change, preferably before something tried to murder me again.
Because if the last two worlds had taught me anything, it was this: life stops being fun the moment something starts chasing you with homicidal intent.
I looked outside the window once more.
Normal houses, normal people, normal streets.
Peaceful, quiet.
Honestly, it looked too normal.
And considering my recent track record, that was somehow more suspicious than reassuring.
“…Well.” I grabbed the bag.
“Time to figure out what kind of hellhole this place is.”
End of Chapter 8