Transmigration, such an fascinating fictional concept, until it stays as fiction.
Many dream about being reborn in a world filled with heroes and villains but would they just dream if they knew there was a life beyond death.
Some would jump from the...
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"God damn it."
I muttered, crumpling the newspaper and tossing it into the trash.
It had only been two days since I left the Parkers and missing posters of me were already plastered around Queens and making their way onto the front pages.
Part of me wanted to give Ben a call and tell him not to waste his hard-earned money on those posters but the logical and paranoid side suggested letting events unfold naturally would make it look more convincing.
Shaking my head, I walked back toward the creaky bed and picked up the stack of twelve thousand dollars lying on top of it.
Over the past couple of days, I had been following the same routine, venturing out after sunset and taking down a few dealers.
I hadn't even reached double digits in my kill count yet, although most of them, aside from that Jule guy, had thousands of dollars in their pockets.
During this something piqued my interest, the recurring mention of 'The Bar'.
Every dealer seemed to bring it up right before I detached their heads.
My curiosity got the better of me and last night I probed one of the dealers about The Bar.
It turned out 'The Bar' was an abbreviation for 'The Bar with No Name'.
An establishment where the criminal underworld gathered to settle territorial disputes, secure loans for their illicit businesses and find shady job opportunities.
And that's exactly where I planned to pay a visit tonight.
I tucked the cash into my jacket and bounced out of the room, strutting down the stairs and out of the building.
Claire, the old lady at the front desk, couldn't care less about my existence anymore. As long as I cough up the extra cash and don't trash the room, she is cool.
I strolled through the streets, earning plenty of side-eye from the crowd thanks to my full body suit and the hoodie obscuring my face but I was getting used to the attention.
After a brisk 20-minute walk, I escaped Hell's Kitchen and found myself in front of this fancy-ass Victorian-looking joint wedged between the towering Queens and Manhattan skyscrapers.
The building had a bunch of floors, all decked out with black-tinted windows and a long line of folks waiting at the front entrance while security gave them the once-over.
But I didn't plan on using the main entrance, so I slowly walked past them and made a turn into the back alley.
Once I reached the back, I spotted four dudes guarding the back door. I sauntered over as they gave me the stink eye.
