Life was hard in this country.
Everything cost money.
Food cost money.
A place to sleep cost money.
Even justice seemed to cost money.
The politicians filled their pockets while people like me fought over scraps. It was hard to live honestly when everything around you was rotten.
So I did what worked.
Dirty jobs.
Stealing.
Surviving.
That was my life.
For the past few weeks, I'd been watching an abandoned house at the edge of town.
At first, I thought someone still lived there. But after three weeks, I never saw a single person enter or leave.
To be sure, I placed a small piece of tape on the front door.
A simple trick.
If someone opened the door, the tape would break.
Three weeks later, it was still there.
No visitors.
No movement.
No signs of life.
Perfect.
The plan was simple.
Get inside.
Find anything valuable.
Leave.
I've done jobs like this before.
Nothing ever went wrong.
At least, that's what I thought.
That night, I slipped through the backyard fence and approached a window.
The glass wasn't locked.
Lucky me.
I carefully opened it and climbed inside.
Landing straight to the bathroom.
The house was dark.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
I took a few steps forward.
Then I heard voices.
Laughter.
The sound of cards shuffling.
My heart skipped a beat.
Someone was here.
A faint light leaked from beneath a nearby door.
Slowly, I moved closer and peeked through a narrow gap between the wall and the doorframe.
Inside sat several men around a table.
Cards.
Cash.
Alcohol.
The room looked more like a private gambling den than an abandoned house.
Damn.
I should leave.
The moment I stepped back, the door suddenly opened.
One of the men walked out.
He looked annoyed, muttering to himself about losing money.
Then he noticed me.
Our eyes met.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then his face twisted in anger.
"Who the hell are you?!"
My body reacted before my brain could.
Run.
I turned and sprinted toward the same window I had entered through.
Behind me, shouting erupted.
Footsteps.
Then—
BANG!
A gunshot echoed through the house.
Pain exploded across my side.
I stumbled and crashed into a baththub, clutching my ribs.
Blood soaked through my shirt.
"Damn it..."
I tried to stand.
BANG!
Another shot.
This time my leg gave out beneath me.
I collapsed onto the floor.
The footsteps grew closer.
I couldn't run anymore.
A rough hand grabbed my shirt and dragged me across the floor.
I fought back.
It didn't matter.
The men pulled me into the living room.
The gamblers sat around the table, staring at me.
Some laughed.
Others looked bored.
Golden rings covered their fingers.
Chains hung around their necks.
People with money.
People with power.
People who knew nobody would come looking for me.
Then I noticed something beside the table.
Large bags.
Several of them.
Dark red stains soaked through the fabric.
Blood.
A lot of blood.
The room suddenly felt colder.
My stomach dropped.
I wasn't the first person who had broken into this house.
And judging by those bags...
I wasn't going to be the last.
One of the men raised his gun.
I opened my mouth to speak.
To beg.
To curse.
To say anything.
But the words never came.
The gun fired.
And darkness swallowed everything.
Prologue End