Trapped in the Wiki I Moderated, Every Monday I Die in the Horror Setting I Approved

Atlas Ashworth wanted to build a clinic. Instead he built debt, worked himself to death before thirty, and was found at his desk with nothing to show for thirteen years but loan statements. Then he wakes up. Not in a hospital. In a gaslit research chamber, locked inside a body that has no pulse and will not stay dead. He is the Returning Vessel, an entity that manifests every Monday to be cut open, drowned, and catalogued by men who speak in classifications and feel nothing at all. And Atlas knows those classifications. He should. He approved this thing himself, years ago, as a teenage moderator on a horror website that was only ever supposed to be fiction. The website is real now. The experiments are real. And the only tool he has is the old moderator interface still hanging behind his eyes, feeding him the logs of every cruelty performed on his own body, one purchase at a time. To escape, Atlas will have to be carried into worlds worse than his cell, learn to trigger the power the researchers are desperate to steal from him, and decide what a man owes to the monsters he made. Because the thing about responsibility is that it follows you everywhere. Even here. Even into death.