Ding! Ding!
A young man open the door and the bell chimed as usual, the place was empty with no customer in these hour in the evening. The only person present before Sam inside the pizzeria was a chubby man in his 40s, he has a magnificent black mustache you usually see in movies or commercial, his tomato and cheese stained apron indicating he's the cook of the place, currently the man is not cooking but holding a rag in hand and cleaning bottle in another.
As soon as the bell rang, he turned to look at the door and find it was Sam visiting.
"Huh? Hey! If it isn't my boy Sam! Come in! Come in!" Uncle Patrick put down the cleaning stuff on the table and immediately walk toward Sam happily. How could he not? The boy finally appeared again after going missing for awhile to god knows where!
Sam stepped inside the pizzeria, he look around and make sure there's no customer inside, his gaze stole a glance at the cleaning stuff at one of the table—it seems he walked in when uncle Patrick in the middle of cleaning the tables.
Sam continue to walked forward with uncertainty, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide their shaking. Cold sweat ran down his back, soaking into the collar of his shirt. He forced a breath in—then out.
"Hello, Uncle...It's been a while. How have you been?" Sam asked nervously, trying his best hiding his swirling emotions.
"Me? I've been fine! Nothing too exciting lately, though I did nearly burn the marinara yesterday—but hey that's just me being old hahaha!" Patrick bellowed a joyful laugh, he patted Sam on the shoulder. "Enough about me. What about you, boy? Where you been these days? You look like a dried out pizza! Did you catch a cold or something? You kids these days needs to learn how to take care of their body better I tell you!"
'I'm sorry uncle Patrick, I'm sorry for disappearing suddenly... I'm sorry for disappointing you...' Sam tried to opened his mouth, but the words were thick. Like a dam straining to hold back an enormous flood. His throat locked up and he looked down, lips trembling. Before he could speak, Patrick grab his both of his shoulder firmly and look at him in the eyes as he shook Sam gently in place.
"Hey boy? What're wrong? Are you okay?" Uncle Patrick asked, his voice laced with confusion and concerns. But after not hearing sam's answer for some moments and the state of sam's akin to someone's second's away from breaking down, he pulled him into a warm and fatherly hug, he patted sam's in the back to calm him down.
"Easy now, boy... Breathe. I don't know what's going on right now but I can tell something weighing on you heavily. Care to tell me what's going on? Maybe this old bones can help you with something, just say the word."
And just like that, the dam broke.
Sam sobbed into his uncle's shoulder, hands clutching the back of the apron like a child clinging to safety. It wasn't loud, not at first—just ragged breaths, then a choked up gasp that turned into a fullblown tears. All the guilt, the pressure, the doubt—everything he had been trying to hold in came pouring all at once.
"Sam!? Boy! What's wrong!?"
"I'm sorry," Sam managed between gasps. "I—i'm so sorry, Uncle Patrick..."
Patrick slowly pulled back, his hands form on Sam's shoulders as he looked him in the eye.
"What in the world are you apologizing for?"
Sam took another shaky breath, his voice cracked. "I'm sorry for leaving the pizzeria without telling you..."
Silence.
There's no anger, no disappointment, just silence.
Sam continued, eyes watery and red. "I didn't want to... But I need a job that pays more. I need to support my family, and I feel like... Like i'm betraying you. You gave me a job when no one else did. You taught me everything. I wouldn't be who I am now without you, and now... I'm walking away from that, from you."
Uncle Patrick blinked slowly, then gave a quiet sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck and walked behind the counter for a second. Sam stood still like an invisible ice encasing both of his legs in place, heartbeats pounding in his ears.
When Patrick came back, he wasn't holding anything—just a small, tired smile.
"Sam... When I gave you that job, it wasn't because I expected you to stay here forever."
Sam looked up, confused.
"I gave it to you because you needed it, I know from the very first time I gaze upon your eyes boy. You had good in you, and you still do now." Patrick's voice softened. "Jobs come and go everyday, but people? People are what matter. You didn't betray me, kid. You just simply... Grew up. You made a hard choice, and you did it for the people you love."
Sam's lip quievered. "But i—"
"No 'buts'." Patrick stepped forward and gave him another, gentler hug. "I'm proud of you, you hear me? Damn proud. You're not just some scared kid anymore—you're a man who's making his own way in life."
A silence lingered again—this time, it was peaceful. Eventually, Patrick pulled back and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Now now, are you quitting officially or you just coming here to confess your sins like it's a pizza church?"
Sam let out a broken laugh, wiping his teary eyes. "Yeah... Officially. I didn't want to ghost or anything like that again."
"Good." Patrick nodded. "You've still got a shift's worth of marinara debt to pay off. You can work tonight and consider your soul absolved boy."
Sam chuckled weakly, the weight on his chest easing more with every seconds.
"Thanks, uncle..."
Patrick Shakes his head, "Don't thank me boy, just... promise me one thing."
"What's that?" Sam tilted his head, curious.
"Wherever you go—make it yours. Just like you made this place yours. And visit once in a while, alright? I'll save a slice for you."
Sam smiled—genuinely, fully unburdened—for the first time in days.
"Deal."
Then Sam spent some time inside the pizzeria with uncle Patrick, helping around the place while having some unfinished conversation, at the end of the day the scent of tomato sauce and melted cheese still lingered faintly on Sam's clothes as he stepped out of the pizzeria.
The night air was cool—cooler than before, or maybe it just felt that way now that the knot in his chest had loosened. He slipped his hands into his pockets and started walking, no destination in mind. Again. But this time, it felt different.
Each step echoed softly along the sidewalk passing dimly lit shops and closed cafés. The town felt quieter now, more still, as if the world had paused just to let him catch up.
Streetlights painted everything in a soft amber glow. His reflection stretched beside him—tall, unsure, but walking forward all the same.
He passed the same fountain from earlier, the crowd had long since dispersed. The street performer was packing up, humming something soft under his breath. Their eyes met and the man gave him a nod and a smile, not needing to utter a single word.
Sam nodded back.
As he kept walking, memories drifted into his mind like leaves on water. The first pizza he burned, the first customer he made laugh, the late nights cleaning the kitchen while Uncle Patrick told weird conspiracy theories about competitive pineapple sabotage happening behind the curtain.
He smiled.
It wasn't the job he was leaving behind, it was a piece of himself.
But people change. That's what Jessie said, and now Uncle Patrick too. And maybe... Maybe they're right.
"It's okay to move on," he whispered to himself. "Doesn't mean I'm leaving everything behind."
He took a deep breath, deep, slow, and full.
As the wind passed over him, gentle and cool, Sam felt something shift inside of him. Not everything was certain—not the future, not his next job, not the path ahead, but that was okay.
He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts and hovered over Jessie's name for a moment. Then, with a quiet grin, he sent her a message.
[Hey, about that dinner... I'm buying.]
Sam hit send with a small smile. The weight he'd been carrying for quite some times felt... Lighter. It was a promised fulfilled, finally. But a glance at his state...
Yeah. No way he was going to show up looking like a reheated slice of regret. "Gotta change first," he muttered to himself, brushing off pizza from his shirt. Still texting, still chatting, he took his time strolling home, buying a few more minutes with Jessie.
Everything felt normal. But it feels a little too normal and well, it was as if like the world had exhaled a little too easily.
For some unknown reason,his friend's voice suddenly echoed from the past:
"When everything goes a little too well... You better count your lucky stars, man. 'Remember, life is a bitch and she will came back in heat. And no, she ain't gonna give ya a good time, she will ram your ass from behind like a truck when you least expected it."
And then—
It happened.
Sam stepped into a puddle. Just a shallow, forgettable one—rain runoff pooling near the sidewalk.
But there was no splash.
No stumble.
No sound.
In the span of a blink of an eye, he ceased to exist.
Not disappeared, not teleported.
Erased.
From the sidewalk.
From the memory of everyone.
From the world.
There's not a single trace, no body, not even a thought of Sam left behind.
Something felt... Wrong.
Sam stood in place. Breathing. Confused.
The air was stale with decay. The neon flicker of a broken "OPEN" sign buzzed faintly overhead, casting jittery light across shattered glassed and collapsed metal shelves.
Sam lowered his phone slowly, his throat went dry.
He was in what looked like the rotting corpse of an abandoned convenience store. The floors cracked, walls seems to be peeling from itself, and the eerie silence pressing in like a looming storm. But what caught his attention wasn't the decay.
It was the blood. It's everywhere.
Soaked into the broken tile, splashed across shelves, and pooling under the flickering lights in a dark puddles.
The nauseous smell hit next, metallic and rotten. The sting of ammonia and gore mixed into something that clawed from his worst nightmare into his nose and wouldn't let go.
Then... The bodies, or what was left of them.
Chunks and pieces of human meats splattered all over the place as though they'd exploded from the inside—as if something made them burst or exploded.
Sam's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widened in fear, both of his knees buckled under the sickening pressure.
He staggered back, tripped on something soft, a severed mangled hand, then he collapsed to the ground. His palm slapped into warm, sticky wetness.
He looked down, his head moving like a rusted machine.
Blood.
Its coating his hands, seeping through his jeans. The coppery tang now coated the back of his throat.
"What the—? What the hell is this... What is this—?" His heart thundered in his chest like its about to leap out. Cold sweat beaded across his face, panic was rising fast, way too fast.
And then—
GLITCH
It started.
A flicker.
Like his body wasn't quite... synced up. Like the very reality he's in couldn't decide where to place him.
His arms warped, skin stuttered, fragmenting like pixels. His limbs distorted, twisted unnaturally for a fraction of a second. It felt like being pulled through static—like being dragged through multiple versions of space all trying to collapse into one.
Then... Came the pain. It didn't hit him. It consumed him whole.
Every nerves in his body detonated simultaneously, every muscles screamed in torment. Sam curled into himself, face twisted in wretching agony, but no scream could escape his throat. The pain had stolen his voice.
He convulsed, eyes rolled back, and his vision went white like a blank canvas. There's not a single thoughts left in his mind, there's just full on raw, blinding, absolute torment.
Time lost all meaning, every seconds passed felt like an eternity.
And when it feels like its about to reach the top of the crescendo of pain... It stopped.
No—not stopped, it was gone. All the excruciating pain vanished as if its not there in the first place.
Although "freed" from the pain, the memory of it remained, echoing in the corners of his mind like something he'd never escape in his entire life. Branded in his brain by a piping hot stamp forged by the hellfire itself.
His vision was barely holding on from passing out, his body still slightly twitching.
And then—
[System Online...]
[Anchoring Consciousness Thread... ERROR]
[Searching for Host Identity... NULL RESPONSE]
[Localized Existence Parameters: UNSUPPORTED]
[Host presence detected in Non Origin Universe]
[Ontological Threat Detected: Class Omega — "Blip Remnant"]
[System Advisory]
["You were not meant to arrive here. Something erased you."]
["This instance has been authorized to persist."]
["I am your anchor. I will adapt. You will survive."]