The third resignation Geyuan HAN

//"Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here. And when it does come, we no longer exist."// — Epicurus [[Start]]

(set: $name to (prompt: "Please enter your name", "")) You are $name. [[Confirm]]

Many years later, as the smell of decay finally filled the box, you would still remember that afternoon when your mother, following the doctor’s instructions, placed you inside it. [[Continue]]

THERE WAS THAT NOISE AGAIN. That cold, cutting, vertical noise that you knew so well now; but it was coming to you now sharp and painful, as if you had become unaccustomed to it overnight. [[Continue|1]]

#(text-style:"outline")[''The Third Resignation''] <img src="https://i.postimg.cc/hjChrTbB/temp-Imagee-El3-Ka.avif" width="500" /> Adapted from Gabriel García Márquez’s short story //“The Third Resignation”// [[Start Game]]

It was spinning around inside your empty head, dull and biting. A beehive had risen up inside the four walls of your skull. It grew larger and larger with successive spirals, and it beat on you inside, making the stem of your spinal cord quiver with an irregular vibration, out of pitch with the sure rhythm of your body. [[Continue|2]]

Something had become unadapted in your human material structure; something that had functioned normally “at other times” and now was hammering at your head from within with dry and hard blows made by the bones of a fleshless, skeletal hand, and it made you remember all the bitter sensations of life. [[Continue|3]]

You had the animal impulse to clench your fists and press them against your temples, where the veins throbbed from desperation and pain. You would have liked to catch the noise that was piercing the moment with its sharp diamond point between the palms of your sensitive hands. You- [[imagined yourself chasing through the tormented corners of your hot, fever-torn head.]]

No. The noise had slippery fur, almost untouchable. But you were ready to catch it with your well-learned strategy and hold it long and tightly with all the strength of your desperation. You would not permit it to enter through your ear again, to come out through your mouth, through each one of your pores or your eyes, which rolled as it went through and remained blind, looking at the flight of the noise from the depths of the shattered darkness. You- [[tried again, you would not allow it to break its cut-glass crystals, its ice stars, against the interior wall of your cranium.]]

But you failed again. It was impossible for you to squeeze your temples. Your arms had been shortened and were now the limbs of a dwarf: small, chubby, adipose arms. You- [[tried to shake your head. ]]

You shook it. The noise then appeared with greater force inside your skull, which had hardened, grown larger, and felt itself more strongly attracted by gravity. The noise was heavy and hard. So heavy and hard that once you had caught and destroyed it, you would have the impression that you had plucked the petals off a lead flower. [[Continue|4]]

???: You’ve heard this noise before, haven’t you? You- [[Have I? I don’t remember.]] [[Yes, I’ve heard it “before” as well.]]

???: You’ve heard it before, $name. This noise—you’ve heard it “before,” always lingering, never fading. Right on the day… You sink into your memories. [[…the day you died for the first time.]]

You had heard the noise with the same insistence “at other times.” You sink into your memories. [[…the day you died for the first time.]]

You died at the age of seven. On that distant afternoon, eighteen years ago, you were burning with a high fever. Your mother called a doctor to treat you. The doctor tells your mother directly: “Madam, your child has a grave illness: he is dead. ” “Nevertheless, we shall do everything possible to keep him alive beyond death. We will succeed in making his organic functions continue through a complex system of autonutrition. Only the motor functions will be different, his spontaneous movements." "We shall watch his life through growth, which, too, shall continue on in a normal fashion." "It is simply ’a living death.’ A real and true death...” [[Continue|5]]

???: Did the doctor really say those words? Did you truly die of “death”? Is death the illness you suffered from? You- [[remembered the words but in a confused way|0]] [[had never heard them…Perhaps it was the creation of his brain as his temperature rose during the crisis of typhoid fever.|0]]

The atmosphere had hardened all through the house, as if it had been filled with cement, and in the middle of that block—where objects had remained as when it had been an atmosphere of air—there you were, carefully placed inside a coffin of hard but transparent cement. They cover you with white and tie a handkerchief around your jaw; you are mortally handsome. You looked at you body and you touched it. You felt yourself untouchable, unspatial, nonexistent. You really were a corpse, and you could already feel the passage of death on your young and sickly body. [[Continue|8]]

You don’t know what the truth is. At that time, you were sinking into delirium. You had read the tales of embalmed pharaohs. As your fever rose, you felt yourself to be the protagonist. A kind of emptiness in your life had begun there. From then on, you have been unable to distinguish or remember what events were part of your delirium and what were part of your real life. [[Continue|7]]

It was at that moment, at the time of your death at age seven, that your mother had a small coffin made for you out of green wood, a child’s coffin, but the doctor had ordered them to make a larger box, a box for a normal adult, because that one there might atrophy growth and you would develop into a deformed dead person or an abnormal living one. Or the detention of growth might impede his realizing that you was getting better. In view of that warning, your mother had a large coffin made for you, one for an adult corpse, and in it she placed three pillows at your feet so that you would fit it properly. [[Continue|6]]

That time, “that noise” was echoing in your mind as well. You were in your coffin, ready to be buried, and yet you know that you aren’t dead. That if you try to get up, you could do it so easily. “Spiritually,” at least. But it isn’t worth the trouble. Better to let yourself die right there; die of “death,” which is your illness. (text-colour:red)[This was your first resignation.] [[This was your first death.]]

???: Was this alright? You thought it was fine that way. You were only seven, just a child. Since the doctor and your mother said you had died, perhaps you really had caught that strange illness called death. You lay in the coffin. You- [[felt a heartbeat only you could sense.]]

But there was something that worried you more than “the noise.” It was the mice! Even when you were a child nothing in the world had worried you more, had produced more terror in you than mice. And it was precisely those disgusting animals who had been attracted by the smell of the candles that burned at your feet. They had already gnawed your clothes and you knew that soon they would start gnawing you, eating your body. ???: Stop thinking about those disgusting rats. You have more pressing matters to worry about. You- [[Decide to stop recalling the mice]] [[Continue recalling the mice]]

You remembered something even more serious. You remembered that you had reached adulthood. You were twenty-five years old, and that meant that you wouldn’t grow any more. Your features would become firm, serious. But when you were healthy, you wouldn’t be able to talk about your childhood. You hadn’t had any. You had spent it dead. Your mother had taken rigorous care during the time between your childhood and puberty. She was concerned about the perfect hygiene of the coffin and the room as a whole. She changed the flowers in the vases frequently and opened the windows every day so that the fresh air could come in. It was with great satisfaction that she examined the metric tape in those days, when after measuring you, she would ascertain that you had grown several centimeters. She had the maternal satisfaction of seeing you alive. Still, she took care to avoid the presence of strangers in the house. After all, the existence of a corpse in family quarters over long years was disagreeable and mysterious. [[Continue|11]]

What produced even more horror in you was not exactly that the mice would eat you. After all, you could go on living with your skeleton. What tormented you was the innate terror you felt toward those small animals. Your hair stood on end just thinking about those velvety creatures who ran all over your body, got into the folds of your skin, and brushed your lips with their icy paws. [[Continue recalling… the rats…]] [[Decide to stop recalling the mice]]

You remembered. One day you were able to see them: they were five shiny, slithery mice who had climbed up into the box by the table leg and were devouring you. One of them climbed up to your eyelids and tried to gnaw at your cornea. You saw it, large and monstrous, in its desperate effort to bore through your retina. You thought that it was a new death and surrendered completely to the imminence of vertigo. ???: That’s enough. You can’t think about it anymore. You felt disgusted too. You- [[Decide to stop recalling the mice]]

She was a woman of abnegation. But soon her optimism began to decline. During the last years, you saw her look at the metric tape with sadness. You were no longer growing. For the past few months, the growth had not progressed a single millimeter. Your mother knew that now it would be difficult to observe the presence of life in her beloved corpse. She had the fear that one morning she would find you “really” dead, and perhaps because of that, on the day in question, you were able to observe that she approached your box discreetly and smelled your body. She had fallen into a crisis of pessimism. Of late, she had neglected her attentions and no longer took the precaution of carrying the metric tape. She knew that you weren’t going to grow any more. ???: That’s right. You’ve stopped growing. Your mother can no longer see any signs of life in your corpse. You- [[Remain silent]]

Everything had changed unseasonably. From the moment your body stopped showing signs of life to the outside world, something seemed to change. Your organism was quietly letting itself be carried off. The imperceptible beats that only you could perceive had disappeared from your pulse now. You felt heavy, drawn by a reclaiming and potent force toward the primitive substance of the earth. [[The force of gravity seemed to attract you now with an irrevocable power.]]

(text-colour:red)[This is your second resignation.] This is your second death. You were heavy, like a positive, undeniable corpse. But it was more restful that way. You didn’t even have to breathe in order to live your death. ???: Want to try feeling yourself? In an imaginary way, without touching yourself, one by one you went over your members. [[You try to feel your head]] [[You try to feel your mouth]] [[You try to feel your arms]] [[You try to feel your muscles and limbs]] [[You try to feel your stomach]] [[You lie still in peace]]

Your body seemed unaffected by the illness and continued to grow as usual. And they would remove some wool from the end pillow so as to give you room for growth. That was how you had spent half your life. Eighteen years. And you had reached your normal, definitive height. [[Continue|10]]

Your body rested heavily, but peacefully, with no discomfort whatever, as if the world had suddenly stopped and no one would break the silence, as if all the lungs of the earth had ceased breathing so as not to break the soft silence of the air. ???: Do you feel happy? You- [[Yes]] [[I don’t know…]]

You felt as happy as a child lying face up on the thick, cool grass contemplating a high cloud flying off in the afternoon sky. You were happy, even though you knew you were dead, that you would rest forever in the box lined with artificial silk. You had great lucidity. It was not as before, after your first death, when you felt dull and listless. The four candles they had placed around you, which were replaced every three months, had begun to go out again, just when they would be indispensable. You felt the closeness of the fresh, damp violets your mother had brought that morning. You felt it in the lilies, the roses. But all that terrible reality did not give you any anxiety. Quite the opposite, you were happy there, alone in your solitude. ???: Would you feel fear afterward? [[Who can say?]]

You don’t know. But you’ve grown used to it. Since your body has stopped growing, and even your mother’s attention has gradually waned, why bother taking it so seriously? Don’t be so serious. You don’t even need to breathe to sustain your death anymore. How effortless, how peaceful. ???: Are you happy? [[Yes]]

That no longer matters. It was hard for you to think about the moment when the hammer would pound the nails into the green wood and the coffin would creak under its certain hope of becoming a tree once more. Your body, drawn now with greater force by the imperative of the earth, would remain tilted in a damp, claylike, soft depth and up there, four cubic yards above, the gravediggers’ last blows would grow faint. ???: Do you truly feel no fear? [[...|12]]

There, on a hard pillow, was your head, turned a bit toward the left. [[You try to feel your mouth]] [[You try to feel your arms]] [[You try to feel your muscles and limbs]] [[You try to feel your stomach]] [[You lie still in peace]]

You imagined your mouth slightly open because of the narrow strip of cold that filled your throat with hail. You had been chopped down like a twenty-five-year-old tree. Perhaps you had tried to close your mouth. The handkerchief that had held your jaw was loose. You were unable to get yourself in place, compose yourself, or even strike a pose to look like a decent corpse. [[You try to feel your head]] [[You try to feel your arms]] [[You try to feel your muscles and limbs]] [[You try to feel your stomach]] [[You lie still in peace]]

You felt your fallen arms, fallen forever, tight against the cushioned sides of the coffin. [[You try to feel your head]] [[You try to feel your mouth]] [[You try to feel your muscles and limbs]] [[You try to feel your stomach]] [[You lie still in peace]]

Your muscles, your members, no longer responded as before, punctual to the call of the nervous system. You were no longer what you had been eighteen years before, a normal child who could move as you wished. [[You try to feel your head]] [[You try to feel your mouth]] [[You try to feel your arms]] [[You try to feel your stomach]] [[You lie still in peace]]

Your stomach hard, like the bark of a walnut tree. And beyond there were your legs, whole, exact, completing your perfect adult anatomy. [[You try to feel your head]] [[You try to feel your mouth]] [[You try to feel your arms]] [[You try to feel your muscles and limbs]] [[You lie still in peace]]

No. You wouldn’t feel fear there either. That would be the prolongation of your death, the most natural prolongation of your new state. Not even a degree of heat would be left in your body, your medulla would have frozen forever, and little ice stars would penetrate as deep as the marrow of your bones. ???: Then, what will your future be like? [[One day in the future...]]

One day, however, you will feel your solid armor fall apart, and when you try to name, review, each one of your members, you won’t find them. You will feel that you don’t have any definitive, exact form, and you will know with resignation that you have lost your perfect twenty-five-year-old anatomy and have been changed into a handful of shapeless dust, with no geometric definition. ???: Do you truly like it this way? [[...|13]]

That doesn’t matter. You want to take a deep breath, but you can’t anymore. The biblical dust of death. Perhaps then you will feel a slight nostalgia, the nostalgia of not being a formal, anatomical corpse, but, rather, an imaginary, abstract corpse, assembled only in the hazy memory of your kin. You will know then that you will rise up the capillary vessels of an apple tree and awaken, bitten by the hunger of a child on some autumn day. ???: You will know— You will know—and that does sadden you—that you have lost your unity: that you are no longer even an ordinary dead person, a common corpse. [[Continue|14]]

You had spent that last night in the solitary company of your own corpse. But with the new day, with the penetration of the first rays of the lukewarm sun through the open window— you- [[felt your skin softening.]]

You observed it for a moment. Quiet, rigid. You let the air run over your body. There was no doubt about it: the “smell” was there. During the night the corpse rot had begun to have its effects. Your organism had begun to decompose, rot, like the bodies of all dead people. The “smell” was undoubtedly, unmistakably, the smell of gamy meat, disappearing and then reappearing, more penetrating. Your body was decomposing with the heat of the previous night. Yes. You were rotting. Within a few hours, your mother would come to change the flowers and the stench of decomposed flesh would hit her from the threshold. Then they would take you away to sleep your second death among the other dead. [[But why can I still perceive all of this?]]

???: Yes, you are still alive. But why? Why? Why? Why? You suddenly felt a surge of intense… [[fear]] [[fear]] [[fear]] [[fear]]

Fear! Such a deep word, so meaningful! Now you really were afraid, with a true, “physical” fear. What was its cause? You understood perfectly, and it made your flesh creep: (text-colour:yellow)[[you probably weren’t dead.]]

They’d put you there, in that box, which now seemed so perfectly soft, so cushioned, so terribly comfortable, and the phantom of fear opened the window of reality to you: (text-colour:yellow)[[They were going to bury you alive!]]

???: Yes, you couldn’t be dead—— You couldn’t be dead because you had an exact awareness of everything: of the life that was spinning and murmuring about you. Of the warm smell of heliotrope that came in through the open window and mingled with the other “smell.” You were quite aware of the slow dripping of the water in the cistern. Of the cricket that had stayed in the corner and was still chirping, thinking that early morning was still there. Everything denied your death. Everything except the “smell.” But how could you know that the smell was yours? Maybe your mother had forgotten to change the water in the vases the day before, and the stems were rotting. Or maybe the mouse which the cat had dragged into your room had decomposed with the heat. [[No. The “smell” couldn’t be coming from your body.]]

A few moments before, you had been happy with your death because you had thought you were dead. Because a dead person can be happy with their irremediable situation. But a living person can’t resign themselves to being buried alive. Yet your members wouldn’t respond to your call. You couldn’t express yourself, and that was what caused your terror, the greatest terror of your life and of your death. ???: On that day— [[They were going to bury you alive.]]

You might be able to feel, be aware of the moment they nailed up the box. You would feel the emptiness of your body suspended across the shoulders of friends as your anguish and desperation grew with every step of the procession. You will try to rise up in vain, to call with all your weakened forces, to pound inside the dark and narrow coffin so that they will know that you are still alive, that they are going to bury you alive. It would be useless. Even there your members would not respond to that urgent and last call of your nervous system. Suddenly, [[You heard sounds in the next room.]]

Could you have been asleep? Could all that life of a dead person have been a nightmare? But the sound of the dishes didn’t go on. You became sad and maybe you were annoyed because of it. You would have wanted all the dishes in the world to break in one single crash right there beside you, to be awakened by an outside cause since your own will had failed. ???: But no... ...But no. It wasn’t a dream. You were sure that if it had been a dream, your last intent to return to reality wouldn’t have failed. [[...You wouldn’t wake up again.]]

You wouldn’t wake up again. You felt the softness of the coffin, and the “smell” had returned with greater strength now, with so much strength that you already doubted that it was your own smell. You would have liked to see your relatives there before you began to fall apart, and the spectacle of putrefying flesh would have produced a revulsion in them. The neighbors would flee in fright from the casket, holding a handkerchief to their mouths. They would spit. No. Not that. It would be better if they buried you. It would be better to get out of “that” as soon as possible. Even you now wanted to be quit of your own corpse. (text-colour:red)[Now you knew that you were truly dead, or, at least, inappreciably alive. ] What difference did it make? The “smell” persisted in any case. ???: with resignation... [[with resignation...]]

You would hear the last prayers with resignation, the last Latin mouthings and the acolytes’ incompetent response. The cold of the cemetery, filled with dust and bones, would penetrate down even to your bones and dissipate the “smell” a bit, perhaps. Perhaps—who knows!—the imminence of the moment will bring you out of that lethargy. When you feel yourself swimming in your own sweat, in a viscous, thick water, as you had swum in the uterus of your mother before being born. Perhaps you are alive, then. ???: (text-colour:red)[I] am so resigned to... [[resigned to dying...]]

But most likely I am so resigned to dying now (text-colour:red)[that I might well die of resignation.] [[End...?]]

It’s over. You are dead. Is this the whole truth? Perhaps… there’s something you’ve forgotten. You- [[Try again.|start new life]] [[No, I embrace death. The meaning of life lies in its end.|Home2]]

Who are you? I am: [[1. The Patient]] [[2. The Mother]] [[3. The Doctor]] [[Doesn’t matter]]

Loading… Assigning your role… (set: $role to (random:1, 3)) (if: $role is 1) [[You are the Patient |1. The Patient]] (if: $role is 2) [[You are the Mother |2. The Mother]] (if: $role is 3) [[You are the Doctor |3. The Doctor]]

Hi $name. You are the patient. [[start|Healthy]] (set: $AI to 0 )

Hi $name. You are the mother. [[start|Unhealthy]]

Assigning your wealth value… (set: $money to (random:1, 6)) (if: $money < 4)[[You are very poor]] (if: $money > 3)[[You are very wealthy]]

At some point in her life, your daughter became numb, shutting herself off from the world. She was alive, yes, but it seemed to be only the body’s instinct to sustain life. She didn’t want to live in this world. [[Continue|3-1]]

That day, a mother came to you, asking for help with her child. You couldn’t diagnose the illness. It seemed like a simple fever, yet something about it felt more severe. You didn’t know what to do. But beyond the diagnosis, a bigger problem loomed over you: You were out of money. Your own child was starving. If you treated it as a common fever, your family’s life might grow even harder. You choose: [[Treat it as a common fever]] [[Treat it as a rare disease]]

You are very wealthy.

You are seven years old now. You are burning with a high fever. Your mother has called a doctor to treat you. The doctor tells your mother directly: “Madam, your child has a grave illness: he is dead. ” “Nevertheless, we shall do everything possible to keep him alive beyond death. We will succeed in making his organic functions continue through a complex system of autonutrition. Only the motor functions will be different, his spontaneous movements." "We shall watch his life through growth, which, too, shall continue on in a normal fashion." "It is simply ’a living death.’ A real and true death...” You- [[refute him]] [[just listening]]

You want to refute him. Even though you don’t know if what he says is true, there’s a surge of anger and defiance in your heart— a defiance born from the absurdity of being pronounced dead for no clear reason. You want to resist. You don’t even know what it is you’re resisting. But you just want to do something. Unfortunately, your fever is too severe for you to speak. Your eyes closed weakly as well, but you could still sense your mother’s helplessness and pain. The doctor was still saying something—words that sealed you into the coffin. [[You mustered every ounce of strength, trying to struggle and express your defiance.]]

You didn’t want to resist the doctor’s diagnosis. ???: Did the doctor really say those words? Did you truly die of “death”? Is death the illness you suffered from? You- [[remembered the words but in a confused way|0]] [[had never heard them…Perhaps it was the creation of his brain as his temperature rose during the crisis of typhoid fever.|0]]

But you couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t move your body. Just as the doctor said, you had truly become a living corpse. You- [[Give up struggling]] [[Continue to resist]]

You give up struggling. You were trapped inside your own shell, watching your mother cry. You looked at you body and you touched it. You felt yourself untouchable, unspatial, nonexistent. You really were a corpse, and you could already feel the passage of death on your young and sickly body. [[Continue|8]]

You didn’t give up. You tried to open your eyes. You tried to move your hands. You tried to open your mouth. You tried to command your legs to move. All failed. ???: Don't give up! Again. [[You tried to open your eyes.]] [[You tried to move your hands.]] [[You tried to open your mouth.]] [[You tried to command your legs to move.]] [[You chose to rest.]] (set: $eyes to 1) (set: $hands to 1) (set: $mouth to 1) (set: $legs to 1)

(set: $eyes to $eyes +1 ) You tried to open your eyes $eyes times. [[You tried to open your eyes.]] [[You tried to move your hands.]] [[You tried to open your mouth.]] [[You tried to command your legs to move.]] [[You chose to rest.]]

(set: $hands to $hands +1 ) You tried to open move hands $hands times. [[You tried to open your eyes.]] [[You tried to move your hands.]] [[You tried to open your mouth.]] [[You tried to command your legs to move.]] [[You chose to rest.]]

(set: $mouth to $mouth +1 ) You tried to open your mouth $mouth times. [[You tried to open your eyes.]] [[You tried to move your hands.]] [[You tried to open your mouth.]] [[You tried to command your legs to move.]] [[You chose to rest.]]

(set: $legs to $legs +1 ) You tried to open command legs to move $legs times. [[You tried to open your eyes.]] [[You tried to move your hands.]] [[You tried to open your mouth.]] [[You tried to command your legs to move.]] [[You chose to rest.]]

Five days passed. (set: $times to $eyes + $hands + $mouth + $legs ) You tried a total of $times times. But you still couldn’t move a single finger. The coffin your mother had ordered to be made arrived. Your mother placed you into the coffin. She looked at you with sorrow in her eyes. This might be your last chance. You tried to summon every organ in your body into action. (if: $times > 11)[[Suddenly, you felt something unusual in your body.]] (if: $times < 12)[[Unfortunately, nothing happened.]]

(text-colour:red)[A few tears rolled down from your right eye.] ???: Congratulations. Though it’s just a small step, you’ve regained a tiny bit of control over your body. An inexplicable sense of triumph over fate fills you with euphoria. You feel the tears slowly trickling down your cheeks. You want to do more, but you can’t. All you can do is let the tears flow. [[Your mother’s eyes widened.]]

Nothing happened. You were trapped inside your own shell, watching your mother cry. You looked at you body and you touched it. You felt yourself untouchable, unspatial, nonexistent. You really were a corpse, and you could already feel the passage of death on your young and sickly body. [[Continue|8]]

<From the Mother’s Perspective> You were gazing sorrowfully at your child, desperately searching for any trace of life. However, nothing happened. You wanted to bow your head and pray for him. Suddenly, you saw tears begin to flow from hi’s eyes. The glow of the setting sun illuminated his tear-streaked cheeks. [[Your eyes widened.]]

Is he crying out for help? He’s still alive! What is he trying to tell me? [[Is this his final farewell?]] [[Or maybe… he doesn’t want to be trapped in the coffin.]]

You believe this is his final farewell. You gently wipe away his tears, then lower your head to kiss the trails they left behind. “My child, I’ve received your goodbye.” “I will always love you.” [[Continue|2-1]]

Perhaps… perhaps this is his fight. He doesn’t want to be trapped in the coffin. You can’t just take the doctor’s word for it. You refuse to bury your child with your own hands. You won’t accept that your child has simply died like this. [[You lifted him out of the coffin.]]

<From the Patient’s Perspective> Your mother didn’t understand you. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter. [[I won’t give up.]]

You are trapped in the coffin. You’ve tried everything, but nothing has worked. You cannot express yourself. Eighteen years have passed. Your body has stopped growing. but your spirit has never stopped growing. [[You worked hard to accomplish many things.]]

Step by step, you carried him back to your home. You laid him gently on his bed. He’s just a child. He can’t lie in a cold coffin. You’re determined to fight against death with him. [[Continue|2-2]]

<From the Patient’s Perspective> Your mother understood what you meant. At last, you lay on your bed. Surrounded by the familiar, comforting atmosphere, you felt alive once more. [[Continue|2-3]]

Suddenly, your mother gave you a kiss. Then, with tears streaming down her face, she held you tightly in her arms. She didn’t mind that you couldn’t respond. Gently, she caressed your head. You felt her soft hands brushing over your eyes. Your eyes… [[felt a slight itch.]]

The setting sun streamed through the window into your room, enveloping everything around you in a gentle warmth. In your mother’s arms, you felt the comforting heat of her body. She rocked you softly, holding you close. So warm… You longed so much to open your eyes, to see your mother with your own gaze. You focused all your will on controlling the muscles around your eyes. They seemed to respond, as if waiting for your call. Your eyes began to tremble slightly. You felt your mother’s gentle rocking come to a stop. What’s wrong? Did something happen? [[Instinctively, you turned your gaze toward your mother.]]

Suddenly, you felt light—not through that strange, blurred sense, but truly and clearly, through your own eyes. Slowly, you opened them. Your gaze met a pair of disbelieving, tear-swollen eyes. ???: You did it! You did it. You opened your eyes. [[You defied death.]]

… It seemed that once you took the first step, everything became much easier. You no longer clearly remember when you regained the ability to speak, to move your limbs once more. It must have been on some ordinary day, yet in that moment, it carried the extraordinary weight of your fierce desire to truly live again. You succeeded. You reversed the illness called death. After a brief and terrifying brush with death, you embraced a new life.

During this time, you made constant efforts to connect with the outside world. You also tried to expand the range of awareness you could perceive. One day, suddenly, your consciousness was able to wander through the village. [[Your awareness ran around eagerly, searching for something worth exploring.]]

In the depths of the village forest, you spotted a small, unassuming house. The door was locked. But your consciousness slipped directly into the house. You noticed several things. You choose to explore: [[The books on the shelf]] [[The slogans on the wall]] [[The scattered documents on the table]] [[You didn’t want to explore anything.]]

You opened the books on the left shelf and came across a few passages: “Death, the most terrifying of evils, is nothing to us, because as long as we exist, death is not with us; but when death comes, then we do not exist.” – Epicurus ”…y su tenue imagen se perdió, como el agua en el agua.” (”…and its frail image just disappeared, like water in water.“) – Jorge Luis Borges, The Other Death “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” – Dylan Thomas You choose to explore [[The slogans on the wall]] [[The scattered documents on the table]] [[You choose to leave.|You didn’t want to explore anything.]]

You looked at the slogan on the wall: “The body dies, but the mind persists.” You pondered its meaning thoughtfully. You choose to explore [[The books on the shelf]] [[The scattered documents on the table]] [[You choose to leave.|You didn’t want to explore anything.]]

You glanced at the scattered documents on the table. Flipping through a few pages idly, you suddenly came across a research report. It read: “Project Eternity: A groundbreaking experiment to digitize human consciousness. By translating neural signals into binary code, we aim to transcend physical decay and achieve digital immortality.” The report included an illustration: a brain connected to countless cables, accompanied by a caption: “Consciousness, freed from its biological constraints.” (set: $AI to 1) You choose to explore [[The books on the shelf]] [[The slogans on the wall]] [[You choose to leave.|You didn’t want to explore anything.]]

You wandered around the house for a while before leaving. But from that moment on, you began visiting the room from time to time to sift through its documents. You discovered that the owner of the room seemed to be conducting research related to digital life. You wanted to continue your research, but suddenly, you felt a heavy, overwhelming force. [[Your consciousness was forcibly pulled back into your body.]]

You felt the arrival of your second death. You know it because of that gentle tranquility with which your organism has let itself be carried off. Everything has changed unseasonably. The imperceptible beats that only you could perceive have disappeared from your pulse now. You feel heavy, drawn by a reclaiming and potent force toward the primitive substance of the earth. The force of gravity seems to attract you now with an irrevocable power. (if: $AI is 0)[[You lie still in peace]] (if: $AI is 1)[[You struggled to resist.]]

You struggled to resist. So comforting… Not needing to breathe felt so effortless, embracing death felt almost blissful… But… you cannot go gentle into that good night. Suddenly, you snapped back to clarity. You must fight back. But… how? [[You suddenly remembered the research materials you had seen earlier.]]

Digital life… If your body has stopped growing… If your consciousness is beginning to fade… Perhaps you can abandon your decaying body and preserve your precious mind. Based on the research you’ve delved into over the years, you know you can make it happen. You- [[Decide to upload your consciousness to the network]] [[No, digital life isn’t truly you. You decide to embrace death]]

You uploaded your consciousness. You achieved immortality— in the digital world. Would that be a good thing? Only you would know. [[End|Home2]]

You died. You truly died. Perhaps you preserved the purity of your humanity? [[End|Home2]]

#(text-style:"outline")[''The Third Resignation''] Adapted from Gabriel García Márquez’s short story //“The Third Resignation”// [[Start Game (original version)|Start Game]] [[start new life]]

You wanted to help her. So you called for a doctor. The doctor said: "She had moderate to severe depression." (text-colour:red)["She was alive, but she was already dead."] The doctor told your mother that you needed to be locked away. It was for your own good. [[Continue|3-2]]

You could feel your child’s pain. You didn’t know what to do. But the doctor repeatedly insisted that they needed to be locked away. You decided: [[Follow the doctor’s advice]] [[Reject the doctor’s suggestion]]

You locked your child in their room. You bought them lots of toys, hoping they would find some happiness. But they just sat with their head down, saying nothing. [[Continue|3-4]]

You didn’t believe your child should be locked away. You sent the doctor away. Every day, you spent hours talking to your child, even though they never responded. [[Continue|3-4]]

You loved your child so deeply, but you didn’t know how to express that love. You didn’t know how to love them. Years passed, and you realized it didn’t seem to matter whether you kept her locked in the room or not. She didn’t seem alive, nor did she seem to seek death. One day, as you were chatting with her as usual, you suddenly noticed an open notebook on her desk. You asked if she would like to share what was inside. No answer. You gave her a big hug [[and picked up her notebook.]]

You read the notes in her notebook. //“I can live, but I cannot survive.”// //“The pervasive presence of evil nullifies humanity’s capacity to resist it, forcing individuals to either stand by indifferently or become participants or victims in the creation of evil. Consequently, humanity is compelled to drift between the meaningless boundaries of life and death, with no earthly power capable of leading them into a pure world. … (text-colour:red)[To survive within the daily reality of evil is to collapse.]”// [[...|3-5]]

You closed the notebook. You felt her disappointment in humanity, and even in the world itself. But you couldn’t change anything. All you could do was try to express your love, to learn how to love someone. [[Continue|3-6]]

You hugged and kissed your child every day. You shared your joys and sorrows with her every day. You wanted her to know that you loved her. //"Absurdity rules the world, but love saves it."// You wrote this phrase on a postcard and gave it to her. You watched as she gazed at you intently. [[Continue|3-7]]

The days passed peacefully. She changed, just a little. She was willing to go outside with you, willing to respond to your hugs. But you could still see the scars on her left wrist, old ones and new ones, overlapping. You had done your best to remove all dangerous objects, …after all, if someone truly wants to die, they’ll always find a way. You sliced your love into countless shapes, offering them to her, but she couldn’t consume them. [[Continue|3-8]]

<From the Patient’s Perspective> Your mother loves you, you know that. But you still find yourself crying for no reason at times. You hate this world. You hate yourself for not being able to muster the energy to care. One afternoon, the sunlight was warm and golden. But a sudden impulse took hold of you. You looked at the balcony. And before your body could react, your soul acted first. You felt your soul leap off the balcony. [[You died once.]]

In that instant, it felt as if your thoughts had taken physical form, and your soul was sprinting toward freedom and release. You could even feel the rush of speed and the wind hitting your face as you ran. Your heart pounded in your chest, yet your body remained rooted to the spot. Unable to control yourself, you ran to the balcony and slid the glass door shut. The door was heavy, but you closed it tightly, afraid your body might leap down on its own. You pressed yourself against the glass door, staring at the world outside. Your fingers trembled, and tears streamed uncontrollably down your face. [[You returned to your bed and wrapped yourself tightly in a blanket.]]

You lay there, death still shrouding you. At last, you understood: death isn’t a single moment—it’s an ongoing, unending process. Your breathing quickened as you held yourself tightly. You died, again and again. Continuous, drawn-out, cyclical deaths—an experience only the living can endure. It felt as though you died countless times, or as if countless versions of you leapt from the balcony, each one adding another tombstone to your garden of death. So this is how it is. Life is death. Shakespeare once said: “To be or not to be, that is the question.” Did he also know that to live is to destroy oneself? [[You fell into a deep sleep.]]

It felt as though you were trapped in a dream of death. Once again, you stood on the balcony. Your mother was behind you, reaching out her hands. “If you love me, you should give me the freedom to choose. You should give me the freedom to die, shouldn’t you?” You heard yourself say. “No. I just want you to know that no matter what you choose, I am here.” “I give you freedom, and I give you love.” “Love is not a chain; love is strength. I love you, so I want you to be free.” You saw yourself crying. You ran toward your mother, wanting to embrace her— and then you woke up. [[Continue|3-9]]

<From the Mother’s Perspective> You woke from your dream. You had also dreamed just now. You saw your daughter running toward you. You got up and walked to her room. This time, you embraced each other in reality. You heard her say: “I want to live. Not because I fear death, but because I want to live.” You nodded. “Then let’s live well together.” [[End]]

Your child began to learn to love life, to love this world, and to truly live. [[End|Home2]]

You chose your conscience over profit. You told her it was likely just a common fever and there was no need to worry. You prepared to collect a small fee and leave, hoping to find other patients in need. Unexpectedly, the mother noticed your struggle. She handed you a large sum of money, enough to ease your immediate troubles. “My child’s condition doesn’t seem like just a simple fever. Take this money for now—you may still be needed later.” Overjoyed, you gratefully accepted the money. You promised her that you would return the moment she needed your help again. [[Continue|4-1]]

You decided to fabricate a rare illness. It wasn’t exactly a lie—the disease was indeed mentioned in medical texts, though you had never actually encountered a case yourself. You told the mother that her child was suffering from a condition called “death.” It required rare herbs and expensive treatment. The mother, deeply worried, agreed to pay the high medical costs and let you examine the child. You tried your best to assess his condition, but it was far more complicated than you could handle. Still, you had already made grand promises, so you gritted your teeth and said: “A coffin. Place him in a coffin—that’s the best course of action.” “Soon, his body might decay and emit a foul odor. A coffin would be the most appropriate solution.” You rambled on with elaborate explanations, guiding the mother to believe you. In the end, you watched as her child was placed into the coffin. [[Continue|5-1]]

You accepted the generous payment from the mother, but a pang of guilt lingered in your heart. Seeking clarity, you consulted your mentor and friends. Together, you all examined the boy’s condition to determine the true nature of his illness. Years of research passed, and you discovered that the boy was suffering from several rare diseases. With proper treatment, his life was never truly in danger. Pooling your knowledge and efforts, you worked tirelessly to help him. Finally, he recovered and regained his health. [[Home2]]

You continued treating him sporadically for several years. At times, you intentionally gave him medicine that worsened his condition, only to “cure” him later, further cementing the mother’s trust in you. Years went by, and somehow, he truly became immobile. His body continued to grow but remained lifeless. More years passed, and the now fully-grown body of the child began to decay. You didn’t fully understand why—perhaps it had something to do with the concoctions you carelessly administered over the years. But in the end, your family survived. And for you, that was enough. Perhaps this child was never meant to live anyway. [[Home2]]