The morning after his rebirth felt wrong.
Not because the air was colder or because his room was smaller or because the cheap apartment walls let every argument and distant siren bleed through.
No – what felt wrong was the silence inside his own mind.
He awoke yesterday with memories that were not his. Memories of dying.
Today he woke with the crushing realisation that death didn't free him.
It reset him.
He sat on the edge of the cramped bed, staring at his hands. They were smaller, smoother, and younger than the ones he remembered—no scars from street fights, no burn marks, and no fractured knuckles from years of clawing his way up the old world's underbelly.
He clenched them slowly.
These new hands felt fragile.
But something deeper—something older—thrummed inside them, like dormant machinery waiting for a spark.
A knock sent him back to his senses.
"Seth," called the voice from outside his door. A woman's voice—stern and tired. "If you're awake, breakfast is getting cold."
He hesitated before answering. "…Coming."
The landlady, Mariam, didn't know who he really was. She believed he was a quiet foster kid recovering from an accident. She didn't know that this wasn't his first life—let alone that the boy whose body he now inhabited had died before he showed up.
She eyed him with suspicion mixed with concern when he stepped into the small dining room.
"You didn't sleep well," she said flatly.
He shrugged. "Bad dreams."
"Again?" Her frown deepened. "At your age, you should be dreaming about school, friends, and normal things."
Normal.
He tasted the word like it was foreign.
"Yeah," he said. "I'll work on that."
Breakfast was simple: reheated toast, instant eggs, and thin tea. Mariam wasn't unkind, only overworked and underpaid. She asked nothing in return save that he "stay out of trouble".
If only she knew that trouble followed him like a shadow.
After breakfast, he stepped into the noisy hall of the apartment block: cracked floors, buzzing lights, and peeling holo-ads flickering on the walls. Sector Grayline had always been a forgotten part of Nexus City, crushed between industrial smokestacks and neon nightlife.
But in this new life, the city felt… louder, brighter, and infinitely more dangerous.
He walked toward the stairs, hands in his pockets, when a voice echoed from below.
"Oy! New kid!
He looked over the railing.
A group of teens – maybe 16 to 18 – leaned against the stairwell, blocking the path. Not gangsters, not yet, but the kind of kids who wanted to be. Cheap jackets, stolen badges, pocket blades they didn't know how to use.
Seth calmly went down the stairs.
The biggest one sneered. "Heard you moved in last week. Didn't introduce yourself."
Seth eyed him. "Didn't think you'd care."
The boy stepped closer. "We care about everyone in this building. Everyone pays respect."
Ah.
Extortion.
Amateur hour.
"Respect costs 20 credits," the boy said, tapping Seth's chest. "Weekly."
Something stirred inside Seth – not anger, but calculation. An old instinct from a former life. He forced it down.
He said simply, "I don't have 20 credits.
The boy smirked. "Then we'll take—"
He reached for Seth's pocket.
Seth was the first to move.
Not violently-
Just fast.
He caught the boy's wrist with unexpected precision. The other teens froze as Seth twisted lightly, a controlled motion that sent the boy to his knees with a gasp.
Seth's voice remained calm. "Don't put your hands on me."
The others drew back, unsure now.
The leader hissed, his teeth clenched. "How—how did you do that?"
Seth released him. "Find an easier target."
He walked past them, leaving confusion in his wake.
He didn't look back.
He didn't see the boy clutching his wrist, eyes wide with both pain and fear.
He didn't see the younger teens whispering about him as he reached the exit.
Outside, the city greeted him with smog and sunlight.
Slowly, he exhaled.
He couldn't afford attention.
Not now.
Not when he still didn't understand why he was sent back… or what he was supposed to do in this second life. He turned toward the street. AND froze. A figure stood across the road—a woman with short silver hair, dark combat boots, and an expression hidden behind reflective lenses. She watched him with the stillness of a predator. He had never seen her before. But she had spoken into a small, hidden mic. "Target in view. He's awakened sooner than projected." Seth's blood ran cold. She started walking towards him. And for the first time in his second life… He ran.