In the bustling, unforgiving streets of New York City—
a thirteen-year-old boy searched through an overflowing trash bin.
Rain poured down around him.
His dark skin was streaked with grime, and his clothes were little more than worn-out rags hanging from his thin frame.
His stomach growled.
He ignored it.
Daniel reached deeper into the bin, pushing aside discarded food containers and soaked newspapers.
Anything edible would do.
He had learned that much a long time ago.
By thirteen, the streets were no longer unfamiliar.
They were home.
Not because he wanted them to be.
Because there had been nowhere else to go.
Years had passed since the day his mother left him behind.
At first, Daniel had believed she would come back.
Then he stopped believing.
After that—
he simply learned how to survive.
He slept wherever he could.
Under stairwells.
Behind buildings.
In abandoned corners where the rain couldn't reach.
He learned which streets were dangerous.
Which stores threw away food.
Which people were worth approaching.
And which people should never be approached at all.
But surviving had never answered the question that remained buried inside him.
*Why?*
Why had she left him?
Why had no one come for him?
Why did people with money get to live comfortably while people like him struggled just to eat?
Daniel pulled a bruised piece of fruit from the trash.
He stared at it for a moment before wiping it against his shirt.
Then he took a bite.
His face remained expressionless.
He had long since stopped expecting life to be kind.
Rainwater ran down his face.
Daniel looked toward the towering buildings surrounding him.
Lights illuminated windows high above the streets.
People lived inside them.
Warm.
Dry.
Fed.
Safe.
He looked down at himself.
Then back up.
His hands slowly tightened around the piece of fruit.
"In this world..."
His voice was quiet beneath the rain.
"Money and power reign supreme."
He stared at the buildings.
"Those without them..."
His gaze hardened.
"...suffer."
The words weren't something he'd read.
They were something he'd learned.
Every hungry night had taught him.
Every cold morning had taught him.
Every time someone looked through him as though he didn't exist—
had taught him.
Daniel threw the remaining fruit aside.
He stood.
"If money is power..."
He looked toward the city.
"...then I'll climb to the top."
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
There was no sudden smile.
No childish excitement.
Only determination.
"No matter what it takes."
And from that day forward—
Daniel climbed.
---
Twenty years later.
The boy who once searched through garbage was gone.
In his place stood a man dressed in a crisp white suit.
His head was shaved clean.
His face was calm.
Unreadable.
He sat at the head of a long table inside a luxurious room overlooking New York City.
Below him—
the city stretched endlessly.
The same city that had once watched him starve.
Now, countless people worked for him.
His organization controlled drugs.
Extortion.
Ruthless money lending.
And anything else that could turn desperation into profit.
Daniel had climbed exactly as high as he promised himself he would.
He had money.
He had power.
And, perhaps more importantly—
people feared him.
But the higher the climb—
the harder the fall.
Daniel's downfall began with someone he had once saved.
A young man who had been living on the streets.
A boy Daniel had taken in years ago.
Given food.
Given work.
Given a chance.
Daniel had believed the boy would understand what the world was really like.
He had been wrong.
The young man stood across from him now.
His clothes were disheveled.
His eyes were filled with anger.
Behind him stood several armed men.
Daniel glanced at them.
Then back at the young man.
"So this is what you've decided?"
The young man's jaw tightened.
"My parents are in debt because of you."
Daniel remained seated.
"They borrowed money from my organization."
"You knew they couldn't pay it back!"
"And?"
The young man's fists trembled.
"They abandoned their own kid because of you!"
Daniel stared at him.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then—
he laughed.
Not loudly.
Just enough to make the young man's expression twist.
"If you hadn't lent them the money," the young man said, "they wouldn't be in debt. They wouldn't have abandoned their kid."
Daniel leaned back.
"You're a fucking moron if you think your parents ever gave a shit about you."
The young man's eyes widened.
"You're lying."
"Suit yourself, dumbass."
Daniel shrugged.
The young man's breathing became heavier.
He looked toward the men behind him.
Then back at Daniel.
"You think you can just do whatever you want because you have money?"
Daniel slowly stood.
"No."
His gaze hardened.
"I know I can."
The room went silent.
One of the armed men raised his weapon.
Daniel noticed.
His eyes shifted toward the gun.
Then toward the others.
There were too many.
He knew that immediately.
But he also knew something else.
If they had come here to talk—
they wouldn't have brought guns.
Daniel's right hand slipped beneath his jacket.
His fingers wrapped around the handle of a knife.
The young man's expression changed.
"Don't."
Daniel looked at him.
"If you think I'm going to die without a fight..."
He pulled the knife free.
"...you're even dumber than I thought."
A gunshot exploded through the room.
Daniel moved.
The bullet tore through his shoulder instead of his chest.
He crashed against the table.
Another gunshot followed.
Daniel kicked the table forward.
The heavy piece of furniture slammed into the nearest gunman, throwing his aim off.
Daniel surged forward.
His knife flashed.
The blade struck the man's wrist.
The gun dropped.
Daniel caught him by the collar and drove his forehead into the man's face.
Blood splattered across the floor.
Another man rushed him.
Daniel turned.
A fist slammed into his ribs.
Pain exploded through his side.
He staggered.
The attacker swung again.
Daniel ducked beneath the punch and drove his knife into the man's thigh.
The man screamed.
Daniel ripped the blade free and kicked him backward.
Three more men raised their weapons.
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
He grabbed the wounded gunman and pulled him directly into the line of fire.
Gunshots erupted.
The man's body jerked violently as bullets tore through him.
Daniel released him and dove behind the overturned table.
Bullets punched through the wood.
He looked around.
His shoulder was bleeding heavily.
His ribs screamed with every breath.
But his mind remained clear.
*Six.*
He counted the remaining men.
Six.
One was injured.
Five were still standing.
Daniel looked at the knife in his hand.
Then at the room around him.
He had spending his entire life surviving.
This wasn't going to be the moment he forgot how.
He kicked the table aside.
The next man rushed him.
Daniel stepped into the attack instead of away from it.
He caught the man's gun arm, twisted it downward, and drove the knife beneath his ribs.
The man's eyes widened.
Daniel pulled the blade free.
The body collapsed.
Another gunshot.
Daniel twisted.
The bullet tore through his abdomen.
He stumbled.
Blood spread across his white suit.
For the first time—
his breathing became uneven.
The young man stared at him.
"You should've just surrendered."
Daniel looked down at the blood soaking his clothes.
Then laughed.
"Fuck that."
He charged.
The nearest gunman fired again.
Daniel knocked his arm aside.
The bullet struck the ceiling.
Daniel drove his shoulder into the man's chest, sending both of them crashing into the wall.
The gunman tried to raise his weapon.
Daniel grabbed his wrist.
The knife came down.
Once.
Twice.
The man stopped moving.
Daniel staggered away.
Another attacker struck him across the face with the butt of a gun.
His vision blurred.
He fell to one knee.
A kick slammed into his chest.
He rolled across the floor.
The knife slipped from his hand.
The remaining men surrounded him.
Daniel looked up.
Five?
No.
Four.
He had already forgotten one.
Blood dripped from his mouth.
One of the men raised his gun.
Daniel's eyes moved toward the knife lying several feet away.
He couldn't reach it.
So he didn't try.
Instead—
he grabbed the man's ankle.
The gunman lost his balance.
Daniel pulled hard.
The man crashed onto his back.
Daniel surged forward and drove his fist into his throat.
The man gagged.
Daniel seized the gun.
A second attacker fired.
Daniel twisted the weapon upward and fired.
The attacker dropped.
Daniel turned.
Another bullet struck his chest.
Then another.
His body jerked backward.
The gun slipped from his fingers.
He fell against the wall.
Silence filled the room.
Daniel looked down.
Blood was spreading across his white suit.
Too much.
He knew it.
His legs were becoming weak.
His vision was fading around the edges.
Still—
he pushed himself away from the wall.
The remaining men stared at him.
One of them whispered,
"What the hell is he?"
Another answered,
"He's not human."
Daniel heard them.
A faint smile appeared on his bloodied face.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe thirty years of surviving had turned him into something that wasn't meant to exist.
But he wasn't finished.
He lunged at the nearest man.
The man fired.
The bullet entered Daniel's chest.
Daniel didn't stop.
He reached him.
His knife—still buried in the floor nearby—was beyond reach.
So Daniel used his bare hands.
He slammed the man into the ground.
Once.
Again.
The man stopped moving.
Daniel rose.
Only one remained.
The young man.
The person who had once followed him through the streets.
The person Daniel had given a chance to live.
Now the young man stood with a gun pointed directly at him.
Daniel stared at him.
For a moment—
neither moved.
"You know..." Daniel said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I actually liked you."
The young man's hands shook.
"You ruined my life."
Daniel gave a faint laugh.
"No."
He looked at him.
"Your useless parents did."
The young man's eyes filled with hatred.
He pulled the trigger.
The final bullet struck Daniel.
His body went still.
For several seconds—
he remained standing.
Then his strength finally disappeared.
Daniel collapsed onto the floor.
The world became distant.
Sounds around him faded.
The pain began disappearing.
His fingers twitched once.
Then stopped.
He stared at the ceiling.
After everything—
after twenty years of climbing—
after everything he had done to reach the top—
he had still fallen.
His breathing became weaker.
His thoughts slowed.
*Those at the top...*
A faint smile crossed his face.
"...always fall if they don't stand strong."
His eyes slowly closed.
Then—
one final thought surfaced.
*If there's a God out there...*
His lips barely moved.
"...fuck you."
And then—
Daniel died.
He felt no fear.
He had killed too many to pretend he deserved mercy.
But one question lingered:
> *I always wonder what happens after death?*
> *Rebirth? Heaven? Hell?*
> *Or just... nothing?*
His eyes closed.
And everything went black.
---
Silence.
Darkness.
He was drifting in a void—weightless, formless.
No pain.
No time.
*So,* he thought, *it's just darkness after all...*
But then—
light.
Faint at first, like a distant star, it grew brighter with every moment.
He felt himself pulled toward it—
faster and faster—
until the light engulfed him completely in a blinding flash.
---
Daniel slowly opened his eyes.
He was breathing.
Alive.
Warm.
Cradled gently in the arms of a woman.
She was dark-skinned, her ears long and pointed, her hair a cascade of white silk that shimmered in the strange light around them.
Her eyes glowed softly with something ancient—
something not entirely human.
She looked down at him, calm and composed, studying him as if he were a puzzle she had seen before.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was low, soft, almost musical.
"Hi, Draven."
He blinked.
Utterly bewildered.
*Huh?*
*Who the hell is she?*
*And who the hell is Draven?*
His eyes darted around—
though his body felt... strange.
Unresponsive.
*And where the hell am I, anyway?*
*I just died.*
*So... is this hell?*
He looked around.
This didn't look like hell.
No fire.
No screaming.
No endless torment.
Hell—
there wasn't anything remotely terrifying about this place.
And the woman?
She definitely didn't look like a demon.
*Maybe I'm in heaven instead?*
He scoffed internally.
*Yeah, right.*
*I doubt I'd end up in heaven... but if this is heaven, then...*
His eyes slowly rose to meet hers again.
*God?*
She stared down at him—
still, serene.
A dark-skinned woman with long, snow-white hair, pointy ears, and glowing silver eyes.
*Damn... I didn't think God was a chick.*
He tried to speak, to ask who she was—
but what came out was a sharp, helpless wail.
A baby's cry.
*What the fuck?*
*Why can't I talk?*
He raised his arms.
Tiny.
Soft.
Wiggling little fingers waved in front of his face.
*Hmmm.*
*What the fuck... are those tiny arms?*
*Wait—what the actual fuck... ARE THOSE MY ARMS?!*
Panic bloomed in his chest.
Thoughts scattered.
Rationality broke apart.
*No.*
*No, no, no, no, no.*
*Don't tell me...*
*CRAP.*
*I'm a damn baby?!*
The realization hit him like a truck.
Shock.
Confusion.
Disbelief.
All warring inside him, each screaming louder than the last.
And over it all—
the woman simply held him quietly...
almost smiling.