After working overtime for the thirty-seventh day in a row, I died at my workstation.
It's not a metaphor, it's not an exaggeration, it's really dead.
The code on the screen was still beating, and the red batch of the 43rd version of the requirements document had not yet been modified. The project manager's reminder message stopped in the WeChat dialog box - "Zhang Wei, this function must be online tomorrow morning." My last memory is that my heart suddenly twitched, as if someone grabbed it and twisted it hard, and then I fell forward and my face hit the keyboard.
When my consciousness began to sink, I was still thinking: Does this count as a work-related injury? Will the company lose money? Can my parents get a pension?
Darkness came from all directions like thick ink, trying to swallow me whole. I wanted to struggle, but my body no longer belonged to me and I couldn't even move my fingers.
Just when I thought everything was going to end, a golden light suddenly exploded in front of me.
