Chapter 1: Death = No Body = No Fapping = Fuck... I'm... Screweeeeeeeeed--!!!!
Death = No Body = No Fapping = Fuck... I'm... Screweeeeeeeeed--!!!!
What do you think is the difference between death and sleep?
The difference between whether you can open your eyes again or not?
The difference between whether you can dream or not?
I'd like to put it this way:
The difference is whether you can recognize who you are or not.
And so, right now, I am fully aware that I am this city's most badass Floor-humping Artist.
Clearly, without a doubt.
But...
Drip... drip...
I'm dead.
Clearly, without a doubt.
My entire body has been crushed into a bloody pulp.
My organs are flattened like pancakes, smeared across the ground, oozing blood like a soaked rag.
It fucking hurts.
It hurts like hell.
But I'm already dead.
Why did I have to stick my nose in this mess and end up like this...?
___. ___
About three episodes before I met this miserable fate.
"Hey, Shala."
"What is it, Master?"
"Recommend me some fap material for today."
"For a 23-year-old who's about to graduate college but hasn't lifted a finger to prepare for a job, spending every day jerking off to porn, the best masturbation material would be Master's own life—abandoned by your little sister, labeled the worst troublemaker at school, wasting each precious day like the worthless bug you are. Wouldn't you agree?"
"......."
"If you disagree, feel free to argue."
And so, my day began with this insufferable Household Android roasting me alive.
"Is the hardware store open today?"
"Looks like you're itching to die right from the prologue."