A lone man lay on the cold, wet ground in an alleyway.

Blood dripped down, mixing with the already dirty water.

The man tried to stand up; however, he soon noticed he couldn't. His legs were broken, with bones sticking right out of them—truly a gruesome sight.

What was worse, though, was that no matter how much the man tried to scream, nothing came out.

He was mute—though not exactly the conventional type of mute.

Once, he had been on a job. It was a high-priority case; he had to protect an Arab prince.

The man was a sniper—ex-military, now a mercenary.

But he failed, and quite miserably at that.

The killer was one of the prince's people—his closest aide.

For that reason, the man had not paid attention to that particular person, which resulted in what happened next…

Through the scope of his sniper rifle, he saw the prince being stabbed through the heart, the assailant quickly riddled with holes by the bodyguards that were right next to him.

The man was shocked—though if you looked closely, fear was evident on his face.

Not because he had failed, but because of what would come after.

Once the man returned to his employer, he was met with a gun to his head and was knocked out.

When he woke up, he could no longer speak. The doctors said his vocal cords had been damaged beyond repair, making him mute for life.

Ever since that day, he had turned to the life of an alcoholic—squandering all his funds on illegal substances as well as prostitutes.

Though that, too, was short-lived, as one of the prostitutes he had hired was the sister of a mob boss.

Being thrown out of a window and losing consciousness, what greeted him when he awoke were his broken legs.

The man's name was Michael—a former veteran mercenary turned alcoholic.

Fuuuuckk, Michael exclaimed in his mind, crawling out of the alleyway.

However, as he did so, one of his leg bones that was sticking out caught on something, tearing his flesh open further.

This fucking day can't get any better, can it? Michael thought, picking up an empty bottle and throwing it at a nearby wall.

Michael flipped over and lay flat on his back, trying to crawl further but unable to.

The momentary adrenaline had run out, and Michael's entire body was paralyzed.

That bitch… Michael thought, recalling the prostitute he had hired tonight. She was beautiful, but it seemed his fate had been sealed the moment she walked through his doors.

Thinking back on it, Michael gave off a hobo impression—that might have been the reason she called her brother.

Fucking tank that guy was. Picked me up and threw me out the window with a single hand. Michael couldn't help but chuckle in his mind at the irony of the situation. The woman went to the bathroom, and a couple of minutes later, his door had been flung open with multiple people storming in.

In the very middle was the mob boss—tall and fat. Also, not really a sign language expert, so it probably looked like Michael was affiliated with some sort of gang to him.

That aside… I'm fucked, aren't I? Barely moving his head from side to side, Michael finally realized the gravity of his situation.

He was too far from a visible street. If only he had been able to crawl further behind the corner, he would have seen the street bustling with people.

If only he had his voice, this wouldn't have been a problem in the first place.

Michael had thrown the bottle at the wall a couple of minutes ago, yet no one had shown up to check on him.

The blood loss was starting to catch up to him, rendering him sleepy.

Michael clasped his shaking hands and appeared to be praying.

Oh great heavens or what fucking not, bless me with a thunderbolt to end my suffering, he expressed genuinely before placing his hands down and looking up at the sky.

It was dark. There were no stars, as he was in a city—just pure loneliness to accompany him in his death.

I wonder how my family is doing. Michael thought back to the family he had abandoned after losing his voice and becoming an alcoholic.

He was an only child, with only his father still alive. His mother had died from a lung disease while he was deployed.

Michael's father had tried reaching out to him many times, but he couldn't muster up the courage to show himself. From the start, he had seen himself as a failure—both as a mercenary and a son.

As the light in Michael's eyes slowly dimmed, he expressed for the last time—to seemingly no one in particular—"I am sorry."

He could no longer hear anything. He prepared to close his eyes for the last time when, all of a sudden, something appeared in front of him.

It was some kind of blue hologram that read: [Do you wish to start anew?]

There were two options—Yes and No—written right below that sentence.

Michael thought he was hallucinating. He tried to reach out with his hands to press Yes, but he no longer could. The only thing he was able to do at the moment was see and think.

Michael focused on the word Yes, and as he did, his vision turned black, his thoughts quickly halting.

After an uncertain amount of time, Michael once again opened his eyes—though what greeted him was an unfamiliar environment.

Where the fuck am I now? Michael thought as he started looking around.

Around him were a bunch of empty bunk beds, neatly folded blankets on each one.

All of a sudden, Michael's thoughts were interrupted by a raging headache.

Arghh, what now?! Michael grasped his head with his hands, trying not to let out any sound.

Though that proved futile, as through gritted teeth, a single word escaped—"Shit..."

Michael was surprised—even the headache seemed to momentarily not matter.

"...I can talk?" As those words left Michael's mouth, he once again lost consciousness.

Michael found himself in a pitch-black space, with some sort of movie screen in front of him—scenes playing at a very fast speed. Though, for some reason, he was able to understand them—or more like remember them.

The scenes continued to play, and after only a few minutes, they were finished.

At the end of it all, a single word appeared—System.

As Michael was about to utter that word, he was flung back into the real world—back into the orphanage where he had lived since he was two.

This makes no sense. I had parents, and I didn't grow up in an orphanage. Michael thought while contemplating something before looking back at the bunk beds and muttering—

"System."

The silence was loud. Michael had a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.

I knew this was stupid, Michael thought, hiding away his embarrassment.

Though his doubt was short-lived, as in the next moment, he heard a voice.

[Greetings, host, you have finally recovered.]

The voice completely startled Michael as he jumped up and fell out of his bunk bed.

-Thud

Landing straight on his ass…

"Who are you!?" Michael shouted whilst looking around frantically, though not being able to see anything.

[Calm down, host, I am not your enemy.]

The voice didn't seem to be audible—it was inside Michael's mind.

Taking a few deep breaths and looking around a few more times, Michael asked kindly, "I said, who the fuck are you!?"

The voice seemed unperturbed as it answered.

[I am the system that was bound to your soul. I am one of the perks for those who wished to start anew.]

Start anew? That thing I saw before I died? Michael contemplated for a little while before asking another question. "What is a system?"

The voice seemed pleased with Michael's change in attitude as it began explaining.

[A system is a type of helping mechanism for those who are from different worlds. In your particular case, I am a bit different. I have sentience, meaning I am much stronger than my predecessors, as they were all just robot-like machines serving the host with automatic function.]

It was a lot to take in for Michael. This all seemed strange, yet he couldn't deny the fact that it was possible, as his memories included tidbits of some weird things happening—

Be it people shooting out fire from their hands, splitting trees in half with but a simple hand gesture, and many more things.

Michael had many questions, but he still had to organize his thoughts, so he asked the one question that was lingering at the front of his mind. "What is with these memories I have? Why can I suddenly recall them even though they are not my own?"

Once you were reincarnated, your soul was in an unstable condition, so I was forced to seal your memories away until you had recovered them yourself. If I hadn't, you would have died again.

[And don't worry—this body, these memories, are your own. You were born into this body, and the memories you gained were just what this body had experienced in the last eight years.]

Michael was fairly satisfied with the answer and nodded. It would explain him starting to remember all of the memories clearer and clearer as the minutes went by.

[Anyways, host, you are up, and you are well. I will explain more about this world after you get a good night's rest. Oh, and say Status.]

Michael was slightly worried, thinking another system was going to pop out of nowhere, but nonetheless, he still listened to it. He had nothing to lose anyway.

"Status."

All of a sudden, a blue hologram appeared in front of Michael's eyes—just way bigger than last time.

+---+

Name: Michael

Age: 8 years old

Race: Human

Class: Healer [Common]

Level: 0 [0/100 EXP]

Titles:

Born Anew [Unique] [Temporary]

Increases experience gain by 50% until level 10

Stats:

HP: 110/110

MP: 150/150

STR: 4

END: 2

AGI: 2

INT: 10

CHA: 5

Skills:

Hand-to-Hand Combat [Level 5] [Common] [Passive] Increases STR by 5% when fighting using only your hands

Discipline [Level 4] [Uncommon] [Passive] Mental magic has a 4% reduced effect on you

Shooting Mastery [Level 6] [Uncommon] [Passive] Any kind of projectile has a 6% increase in velocity

Heal [Level 0] [Common] [Active]Heal the target / Restore 50 HPCost: 25 MP

+---+

Michael looked in wonder—the status displayed all of his current physical abilities, even the skills he had in his past life.

However, something did irk him a little.

Michael said out loud, specifically to the system, "Why am I a healer?"

The system replied patiently.

[Your path was chosen based on how you lived your past life. Healer just so happened to be what you got.]

Michael's brow twitched as he was left a little confused and shouted, "How I lived my past life? I fucking killed people! Why would I be given a class like this!?"

Yes, but you also protected them. The way your path was chosen did not necessarily have anything to do with what you did—it was more about what you thought while doing it.

The system went on to explain.

[If you killed people and enjoyed doing it, your class would have been something way different than it is now. In your case, you killed, yes, however, regret was present in each of your kills. If things could have turned out differently, you wanted to save them.]

The system kept quiet for a little while, then spoke into Michael's mind once again.

[Isn't that why you couldn't take the shot that day? You hesitated, and someone else paid the price.]

Michael was taken aback. He didn't think the system knew so much about him.

"So what if I did… No point dwelling on the past."

[That is indeed so.]

Michael stood up and walked back to his bunk bed, lying back down and asking another question. "So what now? Where do I go from here?"

[Your body is still fatigued. Before you recovered, it had caught a cold. It's better if you go back to sleep. Tomorrow, I will tell you what you need to know.]

You better.