Returning to the earlier doors, Noah acted much more cautiously, bracing for another nasty trick. But unlike the black ones, these offered no cold, no fire, no trap at all. They opened easily, inviting him in.

  Inside was a small, prison-cell-size room. One bed with a lumpy mattress, a medium-sized wooden table, and a single chair. On the table stood another sooty kerosene lamp—and again, no matches, no lighter, not even a broken flint. As if the cavern’s previous tenant had deliberately used them all up so Noah would be left with nothing.

  That was all the room contained. No flush toilet in the corner, no stove. He guessed why. Still, a few extra things would have made the place much cozier.

  Just in case, he searched under the mattress and beneath the bed. Nope, nothing new. This was the entirety of his belongings and the last corner of his “real estate.”

  Suddenly, it struck him—the whole space he had seen so far was far too small to spend eternity in. Within a few days, he would crawl over every centimeter, overturn every stone. And then what? Die again of boredom?

  There had to be more. Perhaps a mechanism to open the black doors. Or maybe a way to descend into the well. Perhaps at its bottom, more secrets awaited him.

  After weighing all he had experienced so far, Noah sat at the table, switched off the flashlight, and stared at the tablet’s glowing screen. At first, it felt strange—sitting in total darkness before a single bright monitor. But the place was still silent as a crypt—no rustle, no hint that anything lurked to grab him. So Noah decided to trust his senses. He was entirely alone. Unless you counted the ever-watching Administrator.

  Remembering several horror movies, Noah suspected something might change when “night” arrived. Maybe that was when the real chase, running and hiding, would begin. But here there was no indicator of day or night. Even the tablet displayed no clock.

  The tablet’s interface offered only a few icons: email, notepad, camera, and gallery. That was all. No browser, no YouTube—at least not visibly. Not even settings. Noah couldn’t check what kind of device this was or what it was capable of. It had been heavily restricted.

  But he had nothing but time—and some knowledge of such devices. So he began digging into every corner of the system. Maybe the Admins had overlooked something.

  He discovered he could still change screen wallpapers and add a few widgets. But still no clock. The version of Android looked old—no news feeds anywhere. Or maybe those had been removed deliberately. Strangely, there was still Wi-Fi and internet access. Wi-Fi was disabled, but the internet itself—enabled.

  Noah even considered doing a factory reset to restore the missing functions… but then he worried he wouldn’t be able to log back into the current account. What if the tablet became “functional” but completely worthless? Would that count as damage or loss of property?

  With a sigh, he opened the notepad. Empty. The photo gallery—also empty. In the email app, he found only one message from the Admin. He reread it several times, hunting for hidden clues. One was obvious—someone was watching him and his belongings. If he couldn’t “continue,” something unpleasant would happen.

  It also urged him to “regain balance and look around.” Which he felt he had already done. Of course, he had only done so superficially. But considering how much time he had, there would be plenty of chances to repeat the process in more detail.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The instruction to “use each tool as intended” sounded suspicious. Did that mean strictly as intended—or could there be a freer interpretation? For example, the pole could carry buckets, yes, but it could also serve as a weapon. Or perhaps it could pry open the black doors.

  Thinking of that, Noah decided to keep the pole close at hand. Because the only other weapon-like object was the chair, and that seemed much less practical.

  “The space you inhabit belongs to you. It contains all provisions necessary for survival…”

  But he was dead. What survival needs did he have anymore? Unless his understanding of the afterlife was entirely wrong, and he truly did need something. Two buckets and a tablet? Absurd.

  The mention of “other living or dead beings” and polite communication with them suggested he would eventually meet someone. The question was when and where.

  Another mystery was the intellect of whoever had written the email. The text was tidy and clear, with no mistakes. The advice was straightforward. Yet it revealed nothing about the author. If the message had been written in haste, with little care for phrasing, then searching for secret hints would be pointless.

  But Noah decided treating the Admin as a fool would be the greatest foolishness of all. He would act as if the Admin were the smartest being in the universe. That meant the message was packed with hints and riddles.

  Unfortunately, the message was too short for a proper analysis. The Admin could have been more talkative, written more…

  With another sigh, Noah swiped a finger to close the email. Then froze like a stone, eyes locked on the screen.

  The tablet displayed that four apps were currently open. Three of them he had opened himself. The fourth had been running earlier, automatically.

  YouTube. The same page that had shown him the video of his own death.

  Noah tapped the icon. Sure enough, the page was still open, still showing the frozen frame of his demise. And unlike the other crippled apps, this one seemed unrestricted. Every other YouTube link was present. So was his account—though he didn’t recognize it. Apparently, the Admin had registered the tablet under the nickname NoahKickedTheBucket, complete with a matching Gmail address.

  Black Afterlife humor?..

  Noah touched the YouTube logo. The tablet flickered lazily, then loaded the home page, displaying random trending videos. Just like in the world of the living.

  He even began to suspect he wasn’t dead at all. That someone had pulled a cruel prank and dragged him into a real cave, with real buckets and a real tablet. How else to explain it? Someone had run fiber-optic cables into the afterlife? Built a relay station?

  Seriously—what had God been smoking?

  Still skeptical, Noah examined the page carefully. Then he tapped the search bar and typed: Markiplier.

  The tablet thought for a moment, flickered again, and vomited out mountains of results. Including his favorite channel.

  “It’s working in real time,” Noah muttered. “And it doesn’t look faked. Mark’s last upload was three days ago.”

  Meanwhile, the trending videos were only a few hours old. However he looked at it, the internet was functioning here perfectly. If not for the other bizarre events, he would have believed he was alive.

  Pinching his nose shut, Noah closed his mouth tightly. Maybe the previous breathing test had been just a dream. If so, this would prove it.

  Holding his breath, he started a random Markiplier video, thirty-seven minutes long. Without a clock, the video itself could serve as a chronometer.

  Not breathing, he watched the entire episode of gameplay footage. Until the very last second.

  And still he didn’t feel the urge to inhale.

  Now he knew for certain—he was dead. And that the internet was absolutely real in the afterlife.

  Even more, the Admin had created him a brand-new account on Google’s servers.

  Noah's eyes fell on an icon shaped like a camera.

  [Upload a New Video]