The rain was pouring heavily, and the cold gnawed at his limbs as if it were an added punishment for a life that had gone from bad to worse. He stood at the entrance of an old building, watching the dark street with its dim lights, his eyes drowning in an endless void.
A month ago, he had a job. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to keep him going. One morning, he received a cold email telling him that his services were no longer needed. He tried to hold on to any other opportunity, but life doesn’t offer second chances to those at the bottom.
A week ago, he lost his home. It wasn’t a luxurious place, but it was his only refuge. He stood in front of the landlord, who threw his belongings out without a second thought. His words still echoed in his ears: "You're not the first or the last to lose everything. Take responsibility for your failure." He had nowhere else to go but the streets, which had become his only home.
Two days ago, he lost the last person who believed in him. His only friend, who had endured the cruelty of life with him, decided to walk away. With eyes full of regret, he said, "I can’t stay with you on this path. You bring bad luck, and the longer I stay, the more I drown." He left, and the man was alone—no hands left to reach for him.
But the greatest pain of all was the divorce. A year ago, he separated from the woman he had truly loved, but he wasn’t the man she needed. He left the house hearing his young son cry behind him, unable to look back. He tried to stay in touch, but he felt his presence had become a burden. With time, he faded from their lives—as if he had never been there.
And now, he stood there with nothing left to lose. Hunger tore through his insides, and despair consumed his soul, as though life had completely closed in on him. He slowly lifted his head and saw, at the end of the street, a dim light that hadn’t been there before. A small shop, with transparent glass doors and warm lighting inviting him in. It didn’t seem different from any other store, but there was something strange surrounding it.
Without thinking, he walked toward it, unaware that this step would change everything.
He slowly pushed the glass door, and a soft chime rang from a tiny bell above—as if the shop had been waiting for him. Inside, everything was strange. There were no goods on the shelves, nothing at all except a black bag placed on a wooden table in the center.
Behind the counter stood a man, calm, with neutral features and a steady gaze. The man looked at him cautiously, but the man behind the counter spoke first in a quiet voice:
“Welcome. I’ve been expecting you. You may take the bag, but you must pay the price first.”
He froze for a moment, then asked hesitantly, “What’s the price?”
The man smiled slightly and replied, “A month of your life.”
Hunger and despair were devouring him. He had nothing to lose. He took a deep breath and said, “Agreed.”
The man pushed the bag toward him without another word. He opened it quickly to find a sum of money—not huge, but enough to last a few months. He turned to thank him, but found him standing with the same stillness, as if he no longer existed in that moment.
The months passed quickly, and the money ran out, as he expected. Once again, he found himself standing before the same street, the same shop. But this time, it looked different. The lighting was colder, and the exterior sign had changed, though it still felt familiar. He pushed the glass door and entered.
Everything inside had changed. The layout was different. The man behind the counter wasn’t the same, but he spoke with the same calm tone:
“Welcome. I’ve been expecting you. You may take the bag.”
This time, he didn’t mention the price. The man felt a strange anxiety and hesitated before asking, “What’s the price?”
The new man smiled and said, “You’ll know after you take the bag.”
He reached for the bag and pulled it toward him. As soon as he touched it, the man placed a sealed brown envelope in front of him.
He slowly opened the envelope to find photos and documents condemning a man he didn’t know. On top was a sheet with clear instructions:
“Call this number. Tell him we know everything. Tell him what we want. Either he complies, or we go public.”
He left the shop and headed to the nearest payphone. He called the unknown man and said firmly:
“If you don’t do what we ask, we’ll expose everything.”
There was a long silence before the trembling reply came: “I’ll do whatever you want.” Then the call ended.
The next day, it happened. His son was hit by a car and died instantly. The driver fled the scene, and the police found no evidence revealing his identity.
The shock struck him like lightning. He sank into a deep depression and couldn’t find an explanation for what had happened. He constantly blamed himself: “If I were with him, he wouldn’t have been hurt. If I were a good father, he wouldn’t have been so far from me.” He didn’t know that the man he had blackmailed was the one who orchestrated his son’s death—and that the real task he had carried out was killing his own son, unknowingly.
Months passed as he drowned deeper in sorrow and regret. Life lost all meaning for him. One day, while wandering aimlessly, he found himself once again in front of the shop.
On his third visit, he gently pushed the glass door open and entered with steady steps, as if returning to a place he knew well. He stood silently in the middle of the shop, his eyes staring into nothingness, before finally lifting his head and asking in a soft voice, as if speaking to himself:
“Where’s my bag?”
The man behind the counter smiled and said, “There’s no bag for you. But there is a task. If you complete it, you’ll get the bag.”
“Alright, what’s the task?”
He handed him some photos and said, “This is the man who killed your son. And this is his family. You can have your revenge. That’s your task.”
He didn’t hesitate. He left and began wondering: Was it revenge that pushed him to accept the mission, or was it the desire for the bag? The questions multiplied, but he didn’t care. He went on planning how to kill the man. But was killing the man enough? Should he deprive him of his family too?
He arrived at the man’s address, only to find someone not so different from himself—depressed, hopeless. He didn’t care. The task had to be done. It wasn’t about revenge anymore. It was about getting the bag. Is this really me? I can’t bear this life anymore. I want to end the pain.
Night fell. He snuck into the house. Two children were asleep in a separate room. The wife was asleep elsewhere. But where was the man?
He found him upstairs, in a separate room, repeating: “How did I not notice? How could I have done this? This is what they wanted…”
He was hysterical, repeating the same words. The man watched him from behind the door. Should he pity him or take revenge? He decided: I’ll make him feel what I felt. He turned to go to the children, but then he heard the man call out:
“Please, don’t go. Come and end this hell.”
“How did you see me? They told me you were coming.”
“Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. Come, please. End it.”
He looked at him with pity: “Seems like you’re living through pain greater than mine.”
He backed away from the task. He no longer wanted revenge or to complete the mission. He saw the hell the man lived in, and it drove him to drop the weapon and leave. He wandered the city, only to find every road leading him back to the shop.
As soon as he entered, he found the man behind the counter handing him the bag.
“This is your reward,” the man said.
He replied in shock: “But I didn’t finish the mission.”
The man answered, “You already have. Look at the news.”
He was handed a phone and saw a breaking news report:
Man ends his life, leaving behind a mysterious message:
"The dead child lives with me, looks at me, always asking: What did your father say on the phone? I never understood... until I met his father today..."
The father was stunned by the news. He realized the meaning behind the message. A madness overtook him, and he began screaming:
“I... I’m the real killer! How did I not see it? How did I not understand? This is what they wanted!”
He found himself repeating the man’s words. He stumbled out of the store and saw nothing ahead. All colors turned black. He could no longer move. He withered on the pavement like a dying flower. Even breathing became heavy. He lay there until life left him...
Behind a massive screen, a group of powerful elites watched the scene unfold. One of them burst into loud laughter:
“I won the bet! He gave up his life after giving away that month!”
All that pain and suffering... was just a game.
A bet between sadistic elites who saw humans as nothing but tools for amusement.
And the shop?
It’s still open...
Waiting for the next victim.