Me and Jack were arguing and fed up with that, Johnson yelled Shut up to us.

And then, he stared at me like a blind panda and after a while, he scoffed:

"You guys made me remember the war I had seen three months ago. The Hero king acted just like you. In a serious situation, he argued with his friends just like this. And his voice was the same as well. And he then disappeared. Wait…" Johnson paused. "Are you… Could it be that you are…"

Shit.

Did he do two plus two?

And fucking hell, I forgot about my voice. I covered my face but I should have changed my voice too.

Johnson squinted his eyes, he raised his head towards the ceiling as if thinking why women like to be spanked but file a complaint when they get one, and then his eyes lit up.

I came on the verge of pissing my pants as Johnson raised his finger at me.

"Are you trying to copy him to look cool?"

…

Hah!

I forgot he was a soldier of Malthus' army. Of course he won't be able to do two plus two.

"Yes." I said. "I was trying to copy him. He may have lost but he did gave his best. I was just trying to be like him."

"Yeah. I can see that. Actually, I can't but I can understand. Anyway, rules are rules. I can't let you escape from here. Although there are some questions in my mind like one cell allowed only one prisoner so how were you inside this cell, nevertheless, I won't ask all this.

You being in this last level means you have beaten other levels and became a professional ranked criminal. You must be some great offender, so letting you escape isn't good and if I leave you unchecked, you would try to escape again. So there is only one thing that can be done now."

"Letting me escape isn't good?" I blinked. "Bro, Malthus—the current ruler, he killed millions to become the king and he is outside! Do you think I could do more damage than him?"

"... Well, you are not wrong. But since I have no logical answer right now, I will act like I didn't understand and preach about how killing you will save the world from a criminal."

"Did you just explained your character arc?"

"More or less."

"Fine. You want to kill me?"

"Yes."

"Alright. But before that, throw that dead body at me."

"Why is that?"

"I just want it. If I am going to die, then at least hear my request."

"Fine."

Johnson raised his leg and kicked at the ribs of the dead body.

Just one kick was enough to flung the body straight at me.

I wasn't expecting such a fast delivery so the body hugged my face and now the stench resided in my brain like the image of Jack without his pants and somehow, this was the least bad thing that had happened to me till now.

Nevertheless, I got back the dead body.

But why did I ask for this dead body? How would it help me?

And the answer to that was…

I had yet to think of something.

I just didn't have a weapon on me so I asked for this dead body, but judging my current strength and fatigue, I won't be able to use this body as a weapon either. Heck, it took everything out of me just to throw the body at Johnson. That hadn't even reached him fully. It had stopped three feet away from him.

But if I could just find any weakness, any thing that could take me out of this corridor I would be delighted. I would be cloud nine with 30GB of extra space.

"Now, so long, unknown man." Johnson stepped forward.

I stuck to the wall behind me.

I have to do something. I can't die like this.

This guard was strong. He could bash heads, he could flung bodies with just one simple kick. If he came to me, he would kill me. Hell, if he uncovered my face he would take me to Malthus and then I would wish I would have died by the hands of this guard.

What should I do?

Wait… let's keep it simple.

I took a deep breath and…

"What are you afraid of, Johnson?"

Johnson stopped.

I simply asked the man himself. If he answers, then it's good and if he doesn't, well, at least I tried.

Johnson heard me and in a stern manner, he said:

"I am afraid of nothing."

"Surely. But still, try to think of something. You must be afraid of something in your whole life. Tell me that. Spiders, roaches, police sirens, overweight women. Anything."

Johnson squinted his eyes. "Why do you want to know that?"

Yeah.

What should I answer now?

I have to think of something fast before he snaps and bash my head on the wall.

I raced my mind for any possible answers and in the end, I relied on my instinct and said the first thing that came to my mind.

"I was a writer!" I shouted. "Before I became a criminal, I was a writer. All my life, I asked people such questions so that I could write well. I know I am about to die, that's why I am asking this. I mean, I would like to die while doing something I love."

I made sure I sounded genuine and sad and I would like to think that it worked because Johnson went silent.

Believing my claim would be easy for anyone though. Doing crimes because your writing job didn't work? That sounds like a totally believable story. I mean, how can writers even write when they don't even have more than 46 fans and 26 Reviews among which 15 of those consist of his close friends who read nothing and just gave 5 stars out of friendship and out of the guilt of owing money from the writer and never returning it. I would have stopped writing altogether if it had happened to me.

Johnson's eyes never left the darkness I was hiding in and eventually, he broke the silence.

"Yes. I used to be afraid of something."

Yes.

He brought my story.

"Oh. What was that?" I asked and his answer would give me something that I could use. I could use this against him. I could get out of he—

"Men who wore diapers before coming to my cabin"

"..."

Hopes were a lie.

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