It was a swift moment of panic before his eyes shot open.

Roman gasped, drawing in as much air as his lungs could hold. In a desperate attempt to investigate, he patted his body up and down for wounds. With no results, he sighed, shivering as the cold draft from the open door circled around the room. He slowly and shakily grabbed for the bedside table as he lifted himself onto his bed. A sigh of relief followed.

Yet another day had passed where his timely passing was not fatal. At this point, he wondered how long it would affect him. Even more so, how long could his body stand the distress every night? That was the true concern.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't even begin to bring himself to tears. It was a normal occurrence now, to just die around sundown every night, nine in the evening roughly. Whether it was suffocation, bleeding out, or psychosis it never failed to surprise him.

He grabbed a pen and leather-bound notepad on the bedside table and flicked it open to the bookmarked page.

"Case 432, vomiting of blood followed by rapid temperature decrease. Case number 1 of…"

He marked the last word as a blank line and closed up the notepad having recorded yet another death.

"Well, if I'm awake rather early I suppose I should do my chores."

He shrugged and reasoned within himself, sitting there for a dozen seconds more. There was no need to rush, after all, he had nothing planned, no one to go out with. His schedule was his own.

He stood up very suddenly after thinking it over and left his room to check the apartment's kitchen area. It was a mess as always, but not in the way one would expect. Rather than food scraps or dirty dishes, the counters were piled from top to bottom with books. Books on any topic you could muster up, a literal deconstructed library of sorts.

He pushed aside a pile of old novels to get to the sink where he quickly washed his face and mouth of blood. He didn't mind the taste of his own blood, but he thought it to be unseemly if someone happened to turn up at the door. It was a common enough occurrence that this process had become normal.

Lifting his head from the sink he turned to the small mirror placed on the countertop.

"What do you want?"

He mumbled softly to his expression as he picked up the object in question. He hadn't realised it until now, but he was definitely due for a haircut, a big one. His hair was past his shoulders now, and not that it wasn't normal for him, but he was sick of spending so much on shampoo. To be a guy using shampoo every day, that was a miracle in itself.

He checked over his face for any more specks of blood or anything out of place. He trailed his finger under his jawline and over his cheeks, noting how withered he'd become. With thinning skin and sullen eyes, he was practically the living dead. He didn't even bother sighing as he placed the mirror back in its spot, he was too exhausted.

Foregoing yet another meal, he stepped out of the kitchen and into the small bathroom. He ducked slightly under the doorframe, too tall for the design. Yet again, he was faced with another mirror. He scowled.

"Yes, I get it, I know. Cruel reminders for eternity."

He stooped down to grab a roll of bandages from the cupboard and promptly removed the ones bound to his arms. Underneath, his skin was raw and red with new scars along with ones from a few months prior. There was no grimacing reaction, no comment from the tired soul, he simply wrapped his wrists and forearms again in the fresh bandage.

Every day was a harsh realisation to him that even though he was technically alive again in the morning, he was very slowly dying.

And the last thing he expected to hear was the unfamiliar ring of the front doorbell.

With a slight jolt at the sound, he stepped out of the bathroom and glared at the apartment door. He didn't have the slightest idea about who it could have been. The organization he worked for wasn't supposed to be sending an agent until next Thursday, so this was most unwelcome. He debated just staying silent until they left, but there was a hard knock on the door after a dozen seconds of silence.

He didn't particularly want to speak to anyone this early in the day. After all, he was still trying to regain his composure. Unfortunately, the visitor had other plans and knocked again with impatience.

Roman sighed, and with a few steps of regret, he approached the front door. Using the peephole in the frame he looked through to see who it was.

It seemed like the area was empty.

"No one...huh?"

He spoke out loud, thinking it was over. A dark shadow loomed in front of the door very suddenly and it caught him by surprise. He was lucky he stumbled back and dropped to the ground because the next thing he heard was-

BANG

A bullet flew through the peephole and into the kitchen wall behind him, leaving a small hole behind it.

"M-my goodness-"

He stuttered, barely having time to react. It was extremely lucky the bullet had only passed by him. The next thing he heard was someone struggling against the lock on the door, and it wasn't long before they broke through either.

Roman shielded his eyes as the morning light flooded into the room. In comparison, the apartment was terribly dark and dingy. As he turned away, he heard a voice. The voice of the one who had broken through the door.

"Greetings. We meet again, it seems."

Before he had time to look up, Roman felt himself being forced to the ground. The impact of the heavy, steel-capped boot on the side of his face was enough to knock his brain around as he made contact with the floor.

Not having enough energy to fight back, he mumbled out a response, drenched in a painful loathing.

"W-why...why are you back?"

All he heard in response was a quiet chuckle. The pressure pushed against him further. He was worried his skull might crack open at this point.

"No...really...you know this is pointless, right?"

Roman responded with some amount of hope that perhaps the intruder wouldn't pursue this any further. He could only shudder once he heard the click of the loading revolver.

"I don't intend on giving up, Roman. My task is to kill you for the betterment of the future, the king requires it."

The intruder lifted their foot from Roman's face, only to look at him.

"I refuse to fail. I depend on this plan working."

Roman looked upwards now that he was able to. The figure dressed in a royal, white and lacy suit had a revolver pointed at him, loaded. They donned quite an impressive mask, black and white in colour with two decorative roses on either side. He found this individual to be quite obnoxious, but that was expected of someone who claimed to be from the future.

"So if I'm understanding right, both you and the king need me dead? What sort of future is that, where you come back and kill innocent people like me?"

The intruder laughed at Roman's attempt at questioning.

"The king and I are close, I suppose you might say we share the same ideals. One of which is removing the past. People like you don't deserve to live."

Roman frowned, unsure about the information he'd been given.

"I know, I agree with that statement, but you must realise at this point that I'm just going to keep coming back, right? Those agents who have been after you, I work for them. We know what you're up to, we've seen the murders. As an investigator myself, they've made sure I come back."

He paused to make sure the intruder was still listening.

"Death doesn't phase me any longer, there's no permanence in it for me."

The intruder seemed to dwell on Roman's words as if they troubled him. The room was silent, all up until the door was kicked closed suddenly. With a bit of force, the intruder placed his foot down on Roman's neck in an attempt to silence him. 

It had hurt him, a lot.

"Listen, Mr Roman Morosen, I'm very well aware of your circumstances, hence why I have personally been assigned to your case. Your past is no enigma to me, nor your future. You should be very well ‘in-the-know’ of how this is supposed to turn out."

The figure in white seemed to grin under their mask, pleased with their conquest so far. Roman stared at them, unable to get any words out without exhausting the little breath he had left.

"It's...a bit early to die today...isn't it? You usually turn up at eight…"

The figure was silent in thought before they responded, voice laced with a dripping acid.

"I grew quite impatient with waiting. I would rather have things over within the morning, the afternoon is no time for a death. The king does not like to wait, nor do his servants. You will understand one day how great of an opportunity this is for us!"

Roman's eyes widened, hearing the unusual statement.

"Us? What do you mean...us?"

The figure paused, taken aback by Roman's response. Their reply was shaky as they held the revolver to his forehead, bending down to stare him in the eyes through their mask.

"I meant nothing by it. Now shut up and die."

Through the holes in the mask, Roman could only stare at what were their eyes. One so dark, blue, and lifeless. The other, simply grey and damaged, the sign of a dead eye.

There was no reason not to trust his gut so, in an attempt to stun his abuser, he reached up and ripped the mask off of their face.

As he threw it to the side, they stood up and faced the wall with a grunt of frustration. Roman quickly used this opportunity to stand himself up and run to the kitchen countertop.

With a gun in hand now, he had only loaded one bullet. It was all he would need to pursue his enemy. Pacing towards the door again, he held the gun up in both hands, slightly nervous about the confrontation.

By the time he was far too close, he was met with a gun to the forehead yet again as the figure whipped around to face him.

A slight gasp left Roman's mouth seeing the familiar yet angered face, he almost couldn't believe his eyes. Yet he did not lower his weapon out of the fear of it all being an illusion.

What he could only assume to be his reflection from the future, hissed at him with fury.

"Are you happy now Roman? Are you happy your curiosity got you what you wanted for once? You're fine with this outcome?"

Roman could only answer with another question.

"What? How? Isn't this some sort of paradox? You can't actually be me, right?"

The second Roman laughed, his demeanour clearly far more evil-spirited than expected.

"Believe it, Roman, for the future stands before you, proud and strong. I am only here to sever my past from the future. Or I suppose I could say 'our' past. Yet, I despise even acknowledging our connection."

Roman responded, desperate for a logical answer.

"You can't just physically remove the past, it doesn't work like that! No sort of magic or science allows it! Sure, we all regret things, but this is just stupid, I would never turn out this way!"

His reflection raised an eyebrow, knowing something he didn't.

"See, Roman, this is where you and I seem to split ways. You don't believe in a better future, you don't want to forget about your past. Well, guess what, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you. I'm sick of myself. And without disappointing you too much, I must inform you that, yes, a technology now exists to help people remove their past. It's so easy, all you need is a little travel to the past and a few helpful handguns. It's as easy as that."

Roman had almost forgotten to breathe after hearing that. Was this really his reflection from the future? Was he really so stuck with these twisted ideals? Something just didn't seem right.

"Go back to where you came from, I refuse to materialise your ideals, even if you claim to be my future. The future stays in the future, the past is the past. It's the only thing that makes sense logically. And if you're not thinking logically, then you're not me."

Roman's reflection grinned for a second, it was unsettling for him to witness.

"Then, on behalf of you, myself, and I, the king, I will finish my mission, and take leave once again."

Roman heard the slight click of the gun trigger.

"Goodbye Roman."

And with a deafening bang, the world went completely black.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Case 432, gunshot to the forehead. No foreseeable scars. The bullet seemed to have disappeared. Case 42 of…TBA"

"I delight what horrors await me tonight..."

End entry.