1 A searing pain tore through my gut, and everything went black. I checked my phone, then the fruit stand ahead. After a split-second hesitation, I rushed over, started a livestream, and began frantically shoving mangoes into my mouth. The chat exploded: Is this guy insane? Look at the owner’s face! What a way to go viral! Viewers spiked. Someone called the police as I counted down. Ten minutes later, I collapsed on cue, foaming at the mouth. In my past life, I was framed for raping and murdering a student. My girlfriend Mia gave police a video of me dragging the girl inside. My own parents testified they heard screams from my room. That sealed it. Twenty years in prison, I never understood why. They welcomed me home with a feast—then I woke as a ghost, reading the headline: Evan Cross, Guilty, Commits Suicide. When I opened my eyes, I was back. Back to the night of the frame-up. Fine. If they wanted a criminal, they’d get one—with an ironclad alibi. I’d eat my way into the ER. Let’s see them frame me now. The moment I lost consciousness, the live chat went from mockery to alarm. Is he allergic? This isn't a joke! Swollen lips, trouble breathing, hives breaking out all over… that’s anaphylactic shock! Somebody call 911! The fruit stand owner’s anger had morphed into stunned horror. He took a step back, holding his hands up as if to ward off a ghost. Sticky, yellow juice covered my hands, the taste in my mouth a cloying mix of sweet and bitter. Only one thought burned in my mind. Even if I die, I'm dragging every last person who wronged me down to hell with me. The wail of the ambulance siren was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. As the paramedics rushed toward me, the fruit stand owner grabbed my hand, his voice trembling. “Kid, whatever it is, it ain’t worth this. If you die, I’ll never sell another mango in my life!” His words were a punch to the gut. It was a complete stranger, a man I’d met only moments ago, who showed me this kindness. The irony was suffocating. I gripped his hand back, my voice a desperate rasp. "Sir, please… can you keep the stream running? All the way to the hospital?" In the chaos, unnoticed, I slipped a small paring knife from his stand into my pocket. The chat was a mix of advice and scorn. Don’t get stuck with his medical bills, old man! It’s not worth it! That owner has the worst luck in the world. Wait… isn't that my coworker? Evan? He's the quietest guy I know. What the hell is going on? Seeing that comment, a sharp pang shot through my chest. It was tragically funny. In my last life, the only people who ever believed in my innocence were my colleagues. I’d been arrested right after work that day, expecting to be released quickly. But then my father came to visit me in the holding cell. His first words were, "Just confess, Evan." "Son, don't be stubborn," he'd said, his face a mask of weary disappointment. "As your father, I can't cover for you any longer." I had stared at him, completely bewildered. The lead detective on the case, a man named Miller, was a pillar of righteousness. He’d grabbed me by the collar, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "You animal. Do you have any idea she was just eighteen? She had just gotten into college." The evidence against me was impossibly perfect. Mia had even provided a video she claimed showed me kidnapping the victim. The fruit stand owner hesitated now, looking at the phone in his hand. I clutched it tighter, turning my frantic gaze on the approaching paramedics. "If you don't let me keep streaming, I'm not going to the hospital!" I screamed. Two of them moved to restrain me, but I didn't hesitate. I pulled the paring knife from my pocket, my eyes wild with resolve. "You come any closer, and I'll kill myself right here!" The live chat erupted. WHOA! What the hell happened to this guy? He looks… desperate. That look in his eyes isn't an act! He’s completely lost it. My coworker Evan is about to get married, he has a house, a car… why would he be doing this? Fruit Stand Owner’s internal monologue: Oh god, that’s my knife! A police car screeched to a halt. The man who stepped out made my blood run cold. Detective Miller. He strode forward, his brow furrowed with a mixture of concern and authority. "Son," he said, his voice firm but patient. "Whatever's going on, we can solve it. Don't do something you can't take back." The familiar words sent a shiver down my spine. The live chat fell silent. In my past life, this was the man who had personally locked me away. The fruit stand owner rushed forward. "Kid, I'll do it! I'll stream for you! Just please, put the knife down!" Every eye was on me. Clutching the phone in one hand and the knife in the other, I spoke, my voice shaking. "I don't trust anyone. Stream this. All the way to the hospital." The viewership had swelled to twenty million people. The owner nodded, taking the phone. I finally let them help me onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. The chat was already buzzing with conspiracy theories. On the way to the hospital, the police identified me and contacted my parents. My phone rang. It was my father. The fruit stand owner held the phone up for me, and I nodded. "Evan, you are a complete disappointment," my father's voice boomed, cold and hard. "You might as well just die in that hospital. Making a scene like this… do you have any respect for me at all?" He didn't wait for a response. "I'm telling you right now, you get online and you apologize to everyone, or you're not welcome in this house ever again." He hung up. The chat was divided. Some praised my father for his strict morals; others called him heartless. Detective Miller, riding with us in the ambulance, muttered under his breath, "That's one hell of a father." His words reached me. I turned to look at him, the truth a burning coal in my throat. But who would believe me? The man in that video looked exactly like me. The police themselves had verified it wasn't a fake. And my own parents had corroborated the story. What kind of parents would frame their own son? Miller caught my gaze, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. I thought of the girl, the one who had just started college. I dredged up the hazy memories of that night and beckoned him closer with a finger. I leaned in and whispered a few words in his ear. Miller shot up so fast his head hit the roof of the ambulance. His face was a mask of grim seriousness. "Are you telling me the truth?" I nodded. This time, let's see how they frame me now. I lay in a hospital bed, the steady drip of the IV a metronome marking the time. The chat was filled with comments of "Boring," "Just another clout-chaser," "Epic fail." But I had what I needed: twenty million witnesses. Then, I saw the time on my phone's lock screen. 8:31 PM. The time was a recurring nightmare. In the video, that's when it all began. "I" dragged the girl through the door, started tearing at her clothes, spewing vile obscenities. If I’d had more time after being reborn, I wouldn't have resorted to such a desperate measure. My parents never came. Mia never came. The fruit stand owner, who had stayed with me, looked increasingly grim. "Kid," he said, trying to comfort me, "maybe they're just caught up with something. Don't overthink it. What do you want to eat?" Yeah, right. Right up until the moment they poisoned me, I had foolishly believed they were being threatened, that it was all some grand conspiracy to protect them. But after they fed me the poison, they had my body cremated immediately and fed the media a story about my suicide. "You can turn off the stream now," I told him. As he fumbled with the phone, it rang. He answered, and a sharp voice cut through the speaker. "This is Detective Miller. Is Evan Cross awake? Put him on." He knew. He must have been watching the stream. I ignored the phone and looked directly into the camera lens, a small, cryptic smile on my face. "Detective Miller, I think you're wondering how I knew what I told you. You'll have your answer in a few days." I ended the livestream, leaving a torrent of questions and accusations in the chat. The phone call was still connected. Miller's voice was tight with suppressed fury. "If you knew this was going to happen, why didn't you stop it? She was only eighteen—" "Her whole life was just beginning," I finished for him, my voice eerily calm. It was the exact phrase he'd used on me, over and over, during my interrogation. My life had just been beginning too. I’d just paid off my mortgage and car loans. I was about to propose to Mia. And then they all betrayed me and threw me in a cage for twenty years. Even then, I never blamed them. I came out wanting nothing more than to live a quiet life with my family. I never imagined they wanted me dead. "Detective," I said softly, my eyes starting to burn, "today is my birthday." I hung up and looked at the fruit stand owner. "Sir, I'd really like a bowl of noodles." He jumped to his feet, ready to run out and buy them, but then he sat back down, pulled out his phone, and handed it to me. "Here. Order whatever you want. It's on me. I hope from now on, you don't face any more hurdles you can't overcome." Last time, I was so busy with work that I didn't even remember my birthday until the next day. Four days later, I was arrested. The light in the hospital room was dim, but for the first time, it felt like a light was finally dawning on my own life. The fruit stand owner watched me eat, his eyes glistening. "My daughter," he said, his voice thick with pride and sorrow, "she just got into college this year. She's out there delivering for DoorDash to save me some money." The girl who died… she had been delivering food to earn money too. It couldn't be a coincidence. "She's a better person than me," I said, my voice gentle. "Brave and thoughtful." Late that night, after the IV was finished, I went home. The fruit stand owner had left in a hurry after a phone call, but not before I managed to stuff all the cash I had on me into his pocket. I opened the door. The apartment was clean and tidy, just like last time. Mia was in bed, stirring as I entered. "What took you so long?" she murmured sleepily. "You must be exhausted." She wrapped her arms around me. My body went rigid. I couldn't close my eyes. This was the woman whose video had cost me twenty years of my life. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, just like I always did, then went to the bathroom to shower. What now? Later, as her steady breathing filled the room, I took her phone. Under the cover of darkness, I slipped out and went to my best friend Leo's house. I burst in and handed him the phone. "I need you to back up everything on this to my cloud drive," I said, my words tumbling out in a rush. "Then install a tracker on it for me." Leo rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Evan? What's the rush? Did Mia cheat on you or something?" I ignored the question. "Five thousand dollars. If you can't do it, I'll find someone who can." "I'm on it, I'm on it!" He got to work while I crashed on his couch. Around five in the morning, I took the phone and headed back, picking up breakfast for Mia on the way. Leo's words echoed in my head. "Dude, I checked everything. There's nothing weird on there. Don't be paranoid." The next few days passed in a tense, quiet haze. I lived in a state of constant dread, but I also wrote a will and had it notarized. Upon my death, all my assets are to be donated to charity. On the fifth day, I was at work when he arrived. Detective Miller, in full uniform, approached my desk, his expression conflicted. "Evan Cross, you're a suspect in a rape and murder investigation. You need to come with us." I calmly held out my hands to be cuffed. My coworkers stared, a few of them shrinking back in fear. After the mango incident, I was lucky my boss hadn't fired me on the spot. Miller seemed to notice their reactions. He glanced at my manager's name tag. "Mr. Davis, just so you know, we're bringing him in for questioning. It doesn't mean he's guilty." It was something he never said in my past life. The city blurred past the windows of the police car. I calmly recounted to Miller everything my parents and Mia would say, every piece of "evidence" they would provide. "Detective," I said, "I have an idea. We can't figure out why they're framing me, right? So why don't we put on a show? Livestream the whole interrogation. Maybe the real killer is watching." They all knew I had an ironclad alibi for that night. And they knew Mia's video was also considered solid evidence. It was a paradox. Miller agreed. As soon as I stepped out of the car at the station, a hand cracked across my face. It was my father, his voice trembling with rage. "You animal! I raised you to be a man, not this!" He grabbed my ear, forcing me to look away from him. "Confess right now and beg for the victim's forgiveness!" I followed his gaze, and my blood ran cold. The man standing there… it was the fruit stand owner. But in my last life, I never once met the victim's family. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. The fists clenched at his sides slowly relaxed. He stepped forward, placing himself between me and my father. The official police department livestream had just gone live, and the chat was already a chaotic mess. The Mango Man saga continues? Why are they at a police station? HOLY SHIT, this stream is from an official government account! Is it just me or does the fruit stand owner look like he's been crying for days? Did the kid trash his stand again? The moment my parents saw the cameras, they instinctively flinched away. "This case is full of contradictions," Detective Miller announced, his voice carrying an official weight. "I do not believe Evan Cross is the killer. I can't disclose the details at this time." My mother pushed forward, her voice a dramatic wail. "Oh, the sin of it all! I heard the poor girl screaming that night! But I was a coward! I didn't say anything, to protect my son!" Mia stepped up next to her, her face a mask of righteous fury. "Detective, are you really going to cover for this monster? You saw the video! He raped and killed that girl! He doesn't deserve anyone's forgiveness!" They were strangers to me. After living through it once, I was able to remain calm. I asked the question I never got to ask last time. "Mom, Dad, Mia… why are you framing me?" The live chat, swayed by their performance, turned on me. The screen filled with insults: "Maniac," "Murderer," "Sicko." Miller cleared his throat. "The forensic analysis of the video is not yet complete. Furthermore…" I tugged on his sleeve, a small gesture that the viewers immediately misinterpreted as me having bribed him. The chat turned on him, too. They were even more confused when the fruit stand owner spoke up, his voice firm. "I believe Mr. Cross. There's something else going on here." The chat spiraled. Why were the detective and the victim's father on my side? Just then, a man in a lab coat hurried out. "Detective Miller, the preliminary analysis is complete. The video is authentic." The chat exploded with rage, demanding my immediate execution. But I only asked one question. "Mr. Technician, the video timestamp is 8:31 PM, five days ago, correct?" The technician, caught off guard, nodded. A connection sparked across the millions of viewers watching. The chat froze, then erupted. Five days ago? NO WAY! A person can’t be in two places at once! 8:30 PM? Mango Man was in the ER! I WATCHED THE WHOLE THING LIVE! I let a smirk touch my lips and turned to my family. "On the night in question, I was in the hospital having my stomach pumped for a severe allergic reaction to mangoes. So tell me, how could I have also been at home, raping and killing someone?" Panic flashed across their faces. It was fleeting, but the cameras caught it. My mother quickly recovered. "I heard my son's voice with my own ears!" she insisted. "There's no mistake! Do you think I would condemn my only son if I wasn't sure?" My father snorted. "You probably went to the fruit stand a day later and staged the whole thing to create a fake alibi. Stop the act, Evan." He turned to the police. "Officer, I'm telling you, the man I saw that night was him. I'll swear to it." Their words were designed to bury me. I glanced at my father. "Dad," I said softly, "why don't you check your call history? See what time you called me while I was in the hospital?" "You've been a liar your whole life! I don't believe a word you say!" he shot back, turning away without even reaching for his phone. Mia stepped forward again. "Detective, the man in that video is absolutely him. Even the way he… moves… it's exactly the same!" My breath hitched. To protect someone I didn't even know, she would say something so intimate, so damning? Who the hell were they protecting? The chat was hooked, but some were starting to think critically. Could this guy have known this was coming? Is that why he staged that whole scene on that specific day? To create an alibi for a crime he knew he was going to be framed for? Holy crap, I think you're right. But a person can't be in two places at once. Someone is lying. Three possibilities: 1. The video is fake. 2. The parents and girlfriend are lying. 3. Aliens messed with the detective's and the fruit stand owner's memories. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth! Detective Miller looked past the young technician. "Dr. Albright," he called out to an older man who had just arrived. "We need your expertise on this video." He turned back to my family, his voice cold. "I don't know what game you're playing, but a young woman is dead. I suggest you start telling the truth." They knew we had no other evidence. They were confident. "Interfering with a judicial investigation and providing false testimony are serious crimes," Miller added. I saw Mia flinch, but my mother grabbed her arm, her expression defiant. "I'm just an ordinary citizen doing my duty, providing evidence. What are you going to do to us?" She raised her voice, a ringing declaration of false piety. "If I'm lying, may I never rest in peace!" Her oath was like a knife in my back. Why would my own mother go this far? The chat was just as baffled. This is too weird. Are there two identical Evans? I started to wonder myself. But I was an only child. I always had been. In my past life, the one thing I could never understand was why, even after I'd served my time, they still felt the need to poison me. The key to this mystery had to be me. Dr. Albright, the senior forensic expert, emerged with his findings. He looked at Detective Miller and shook his head slightly. "The video is authentic, timestamped five days ago at 8:31 PM. No signs of digital manipulation or AI synthesis. Unless…" The entire chat, the room, the world, held its breath.
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