Let me set the record straight—I'm not some office superhero. I'm just a guy who likes to get things done. Felix. That's it. No flashy title, no grand speeches. Just a guy in a cubicle, typing away, trying to make it through the day.
In the world of chat support, I guess you could say I'm… pretty good at what I do. The tickets don't stand a chance. I don't really like to brag about it, but yeah, I'm fast. Not like "I'm going to set a world record" fast—more like "I can get to the point and fix things before you even finish explaining your problem" fast. I've been called "The Dexterity Demon" by my team, but I don't make a big deal out of it. They're just being nice. I'm just a guy doing his job, you know?
The office? It's your typical BPO—bright fluorescent lights, endless rows of cubicles, and the constant hum of the air conditioner that nobody can figure out how to turn off. Everyone's got their headphones in, tapping away, working through customer issues. I've got my own rhythm. It's not about rushing or cutting corners—just about being efficient, solving the problem, and moving on to the next one.
It's lunchtime, and the chatter of the office dies down as everyone takes a break. I slide back in my chair, stretching a little before grabbing my phone. No big lunch plans, no fancy sit-downs. Just me and my screen, scrolling through Instagram Reels like a guy who's discovered the meaning of life in 30-second clips.
I hear someone approach my desk.
"Felix, you ever wonder if we're living in a simulation?" Jerry asks from behind me, a cup of instant noodles in his hand. His voice is a little too serious for someone who's just finished microwaving lunch.
I glance up, shrugging. "I don't know, man. I've got enough going on with real life right now. Trying to get through this queue and avoid Sandra's… odd 'Secret Santa' socks."
He laughs. "I swear, those socks are magic. She gave me a pair last year that matched my personality. It's uncanny."
"I'm convinced she's a wizard," I say, shaking my head. "But I don't want to get on her bad side. I like being able to walk to the bathroom without tripping."
After a few more reels, the conversation naturally shifts to office gossip. That's how it always goes during lunch breaks. You don't ask for it; it just happens.
"Hey, did you hear about Roger?" Jerry asks, taking a loud slurp of his noodles.
I roll my eyes. "Oh no. What did he do this time?"
"He sent out that meme to the whole office. You know, the one about corporate culture and TikTok trends. I think it might've been about him and Janet from marketing."
I snort. "Roger's got a serious problem when it comes to office memes. I think he's trying to get promoted to 'meme manager.'"
Jerry chuckles. "Well, I'd vote for him, just for the entertainment."
Lunch winds down, and I'm back at my desk, ready to close out a few more tickets. I don't need a pat on the back. I don't need to be the hero. Just let me do my thing. Fix the problem, move on to the next one. That's all there is to it.
The rest of the shift passes by uneventfully. Another hour, another round of tickets. The hum of keyboards, the clack of mouse clicks, the buzz of conversations filling the air—it's all background noise. I'm in my zone, and time's moving fast.
And then, it's that time again—the monthly awards for top agents. I've been hearing about it for a while, but it's not really a surprise. Everyone gets an award. It's just that sometimes the categories are… a bit weird. I mean, who else would get the "Best Break Time Snack" award other than Jerry?
But today, it's me. As the ceremony winds down, they call my name—Felix, Top Overall KPIs. And yeah, I get a little recognition. There's some applause, a couple of thumbs-ups from my team, but really, I'm just doing what I do. They hand me the certificate, and I nod, smiling in that humble way that says, "Thanks, but I'm just doing my job."
Jerry shouts from across the room. "You're on fire today, Dexterity Demon!"
I wave back, giving a modest shrug. "It's just what I do, man."
The hours slip by, and soon it's time to go home. I gather my things, throw on my jacket, and make my way toward the door. As I pass by the biometric scanner, it beeps, signaling the end of another day. My shift's over, and I'm looking forward to the evening.
I pop my earbuds in, cue up a podcast, and start heading toward the train station.
••••••
The platform was nearly empty—a sliver of stillness in the fading light.
Then, I saw her.
She stood alone at the edge, a trembling silhouette against the dusk. Fragile—like a leaf in the wind or a page about to tear. Her shoulders shook, head bowed, as if crushed by something unseen.
My chest tightened. Something was wrong.
She moved.
I ran—faster than I ever had. No thoughts, only instinct. My heartbeat roared in my ears as I reached for her.
She was already leaning forward—toward the tracks.
"No—let go!" she screamed, her voice raw, her body thrashing.
"Please, don't!" I shouted, pulling her back with everything I had.
We struggled—wild, frantic. Her pain wrapped around us like chains. I refused to let go.
But then—we slipped. The train's horn screamed. I looked up—nothing but a wall of steel bearing down.
In that instant, I chose.
I shoved her clear. She rolled away—safe. I didn't have time to follow.
A flash. A thunderous roar.
Then—silence.
Only darkness.
••••••
Darkness swallowed everything.
No sound. No pain. No time.
Only an endless, oppressive void that pressed against me, suffocating every breath, every thought.
Just stillness. A weight so heavy it felt like it could crush the very essence of my being.
Then—light.
A single spark, distant at first, flickering against the void. It grew, blinding, piercing the blackness like a spear through the heart of the universe.
At first, it was just a pinprick, far off, like the end of a tunnel. It pulsed, then grew, widening until it was blinding. Shapes swirled around its edges. There was movement. Noise.
A dull, muffled thumping. Then a loud rush—as if the world itself was inhaling.
A strange warmth wrapped around me. Suddenly, the silence shattered.
Crying.
Not mine—but others.
Then, my own. My lungs burned with the first breath of a new world. My arms flailed, tiny and unfamiliar. The air was cold, too bright. Voices rang out, a language I couldn't quite grasp, soft but urgent, full of wonder.
I had weight again. A body.
I was crying—but alive.
Hands lifted me. A blanket wrapped around me. A woman's voice trembled through the haze, whispering through tears, "He's here… He's really here."
In the blur of new senses, I recognized nothing—but somehow, everything felt familiar.
Not memory. Not thought.
Something deeper.
A feeling.
Knowing...
I had died.
And now… it wasn't just the beginning of this life. It was the beginning of something I couldn't yet understand. Something I knew but couldn't explain.
The memories of my past—of the platform, of the woman I had tried to save, of the train—it all stayed with me, clear as day. The weight of it, the rush, the choices I made in the end—they were still mine.
I wasn't sure why I was here, how, or if I was meant to be. But one thing was certain.
I was and is alive.