No Exit from the Death Game

I woke up for the fourth time and jolted upright in bed. This time, there was no blind terror. There was only cold sweat that soaked my back and a heart beating so hard it hurt.

The killer was myself. Or rather, some kind of copy of "me".

That explained everything. I was playing a game against myself. He had my memories and my habits; he thought the way I did. Any perfect hiding spot I could come up with would be obvious to him, because if he were in my place, he would hide there, too.

I looked at the digital clock on the wall. It was 12:05 am. I had 55 minutes until he showed up.

If my opponent were "me", then normal tricks like hiding and fighting would be pointless. To beat him, I had to beat myself. That meant I had to act against every instinct I had.

My gaze roamed around the room and finally landed on a spare gas can sitting in the corner. If he were "me", then he knew I would try to set a trap and fight back. I'd always been terrified of dying, after all.

But there was one thing he would never see coming—this time, I wasn't running. I was going to take him down with me. Maybe if he died, the game would finally end.

I grabbed the gas can, twisted off the cap, and took a deep breath of the sharp, choking fumes. Something in my eyes shifted, turning my gaze wilder and crazier.

"Come on, then. Let's do this, other me," I thought.

…

The doorknob turned slowly, scraping out a harsh metallic sound.

I stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the suffocating reek of gasoline. I didn't hide. The half-empty gas can was still in my left hand, the fluid slowly dripping onto the floor. A windproof lighter was in my right hand, which I raised high, thumb pressed against the ignition.

I stared unblinkingly at the door as it swung open.

The figure in the clown mask stepped into view. Rain slid down his raincoat and dripped onto the doormat. He lifted his foot to step inside, then stopped.

He saw the gleaming puddles on the floor and smelled the stinging gasoline in the air. Behind the mask, his eyes narrowed. "This wasn't in your plan."

He stood at the threshold, neither coming in nor backing away. What was he hesitating for?

"Are you thinking of taking me out with you?" His voice came through the mask, low and hoarse, tinged with a mocking edge. "You think that's how you win? You die, the loop resets, and I'll still be here. All you're doing is wasting your limited number of runs."

"Let's see if that's true." I didn't bother arguing. My thumb slammed down on the lighter. With a click, a blue flame jumped to life.

The killer's eyes widened. The instant the flame appeared, he jerked back, retreating without a second's hesitation and slamming the door shut.

But it was pointless. Before he came, I'd already made sure the gasoline vapor had spread through every inch of space outside the door.

I let out a cold laugh and loosened my hold on the lighter, letting it slip from my hand. The moment the flame touched the floor, the world exploded into a roaring sea of fire. Blistering heat swallowed my skin in an instant.

In my final flicker of consciousness, I saw the figure at the door get caught by the rushing flames, his whole body turning into a man made of fire.

He had to be dead this time… Right?