“—The seal was blessed to bind a whisper. They shattered it… and gave it a voice.—” “—The seal was blessed to bind a whisper. They shattered it… and gave it a voice.—” Barely gaining conscious, Opium heard a voice. It took a second for him to fully snap into reality again. Thinking about the events of just happened. He panic. ‘What the hell was that’ ‘What is going on.’ ‘Where the fuck am I.’ Knowing full where that he was just in his room, he made every effort in his body, not to scream. Or she might hear. ‘Wait, did she…’ Trying to recollect his thoughts. He dismissed is initial panic. ‘I think.. I think I was in my room, about to play a new game.’ ‘As soon as I hit play… I got sucked into the TV somehow?’ ‘How is that possible, how does that make any sense!’ He was in complete pitch black darkness. ‘Am I still in this black void?’ He sensed that he wasn't floating or falling but laying down. ‘Have I reach the bottom of this place?’ ‘There was like a big vacuum sucking me into the TV, I remember.’ He couldn’t see his hands—couldn’t see anything at all. When he tried to rise, his head struck a low ceiling, stopping him cold. There wasn’t even enough room to lift his head a foot off the ground, nor to fully extend his arms. “Ouch—what the…?” Fear and curiosity twisted together as he lay there, forcing himself to move. He dragged his hands along the space around him, commanding his numb limbs to explore every inch. His fingers pressed against the spot where his head had struck, then reached outward, stretching as far as the cramped darkness allowed. Stone. Cold, solid stone on every side. The space was barely wider than his body, tight and unyielding. Its shape felt wrong—too long, too narrow. Coffin-like. A stone coffin. The thought alone made his chest tighten. As he shifted and shimmied within the cramped space, his fingers brushed against a few small objects scattered around him. Debris, he assumed, trash or fragments that had been pulled in with him. “What the fuck is going on?!” Truly dumbfounded, Opium tried to piece together what had just happened, searching for some logical explanation for this impossible situation. ‘The air…’ The thought barely formed before he noticed it, each breath coming shallower than the last. The air was thinning. His breath hitched. Panic began to rise. He was going to suffocate if he did not do something, and fast. Banking on the fact that this indeed was a coffin. He slammed his palms against the stone above him and shoved with everything he had. Nothing. The air was getting thinner each breath. He tried again, pushing harder, longer, until his arms trembled and his chest burned. Nothing. Fear flooded his body, heavy and suffocating. ‘Damn it! Damn it all.’ ‘What kind of place is this?!’ ‘I finally was able to enjoy my spoils, and the TV turns into some fucked black hole! Next thing I know, I’m flying headfirst into it and now I’m stuck in this damn box!” His chest heaved as he shoved again. Not stopping until his muscles screamed. Not up but to the side. He planted his feet and pushed with everything he had, hoping he could shift it, slide it, anything. He did not need to lift it, just move it enough to get a sliver of air. The stone lid did not budge. His arms trembled. HIs breath came fast and uneven. Scraping in his chest. Heat rushed through him, anger flaring up just to smother the terror clawing at his insides. Dying in a coffin. “That’s it? That’s it?! I get sucked into some TV hell just to die!?” The air was vanishing fast. Every breath felt like dragging oxygen through a straw no wider than a needle. His chest burned. His lungs screamed. If he had to guess, he had only seconds left before the coffin ran out of air completely. Filled with fear and rage, he threw himself against the lid once more. He braced his feet and dug his back into the stone beneath him, and pushed with everything he had left. A raw sound tore from his throat. Not words anymore. Just panic. ‘What! Some game just traps people inside TV now to let them die. Who decides that!?’ ‘WHAT KIND OF SICK JOKE!’ Then it all crashed over him at once. Terror. Horror. Rage. A frantic, impossible determination. And he drew his last breath. Even though he can’t see, he felt his vision failing, like something inside his head was dimming. The edges of his thoughts began to rot away, slipping loose, dissolving into nothing. ‘Fuck that… I can’t die like this. I can’t fucking die like this.’ He refused it. Refused the coffin. Refused the end. With whatever strength his body still had, he arched his back, planted his feet, and pushed with all that remained of him. “Fuck that… I can’t die like this…” His voice cracked into a broken wail. “I cant d—“ By then, he had lost the strength to even think clearly. It felt like his determination had drawn something’s attention. Or maybe it was just his starved brain inventing things. Instinct took over. He let go of every thought, every fear, every memory, and clung to a single command. Push. He drove himself into the lid one final time. Every muscle locked. His legs anchored. His back bowed violently against the stone. Pain detonated through him. He felt something in his arms crack. His spine screamed. Still nothing. His strength began to drain away. His arms started to give. The pressure faltered. And with it, his fate began to seal. Just then, his arms twitched and slipped a fraction to the side. With his vision nearly gone and his consciousness slipping, he felt it. A change.