Dear reader,
If you're reading this because you hope to also get transmigrated into a different world, my advice is: crush that thought immediately. Try to lead a normal because transmigrating into another world is extremely risky and catastrophic. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways that no living being should never experience. A great pain that is not just that physical, but also mental.
Though, the chances of being transmigrated are dim, you can still be transmigrated. If your luck is rotten like mine, that is...
The thing is: the more knowledge you consume about these 'paranormal', 'supernatural' transmigration/ancient gods and stuff, the more likely for you to attract their attention. And the attention of such beings is never great, and so is the 'great knowledge' humans pursue. Some things are better off forgotten and undiscovered.
That's why, reading this book is risky for you. Though it is unlikely, there's still a chance for you attract their attention. And once they see you, it's only a matter of time before they get you.
Didn't say I warn you, reader.
....
The moonlight spilled through the open window, casting a soft glow over the empty apartment. The sight of Los Angelos from up here (by 'up here' I mean from the 23rd floor) showed a dazzling display of neon and headlights, vibrant yet gaudy in its excess.
Down below, cars wove through the streets, their headlights flickering like fireflies. Shops and billboards bathed the city in artificial light, while the moon and stars loomed from the distant sky — a place a mortal like 'me' could never reach.
Everything seemed peaceful. Normal. Couples strolled along the sidewalks, families gathered outside cafés, and the laughter of children rang through the streets (not sure how I'm able to hear it. The thing is, I've always had sharp senses. Or at least, my hearing and reflexes have always been a little too good. And I'm really telling the truth.)
Like back in middle school, we used to fight in front of the board during lunch break—not real fights, just scuffles to settle grudges or tournaments for fun. At first, the fight is never serious. However, as the fight intensifies and neither side is winning or losing, they start to get serious.
I joined in sometimes, and more often than not, I won. The term 'more often' is used because I sometimes lose because strength and range weren't in my favor. Ugh anyways, that's not the point here.
The point is.... I never took any martial arts class or anything. But somehow, my body always knew how to move. I could dodge punches that could probably reap the life out of me before they landed, analyze my opponent's patterns in the heat of the moment. My mind worked so fast it scared even me. If only I could get that level of focus during exams...
Enough with my middle school life. Right now, my life's at danger. I'm literally being chased by a freaking mafia.
Kind of my fault, I guess. Back when I was in middle school, my exceptional fighting skills attracted the attention of the biggest mafia in Los Angelos.
It started years ago when my fighting skills caught the attention of the biggest mafia in Los Angeles. At first, I refused their offer, but then the boss made a proposition—he'd cover all our living expenses if I worked under him. My parents agreed without hesitation.
And yeah, I know what you're thinking. What kind of parents let their kid join the mafia? Selfish, irresponsible, reckless. Trust me, I couldn't agree more. But back then, we didn't have a choice. Refusing meant making our already miserable lives even worse.
So, I joined. And at first, it wasn't all bad—or at least, it seemed that way. I got to hang out in bars and other adult places (hate to admit but those places were kind of pleasant? Nah, no way... I'm not a freak) rub shoulders with intimidating guys in black vests and sunglasses. They could dress however they wanted, but all of them wore the signature black bandana with a black widow emblem.
However, as time passed and my status in the mafia increased, the boss brought a new business to earn even more money — despite being crazy rich.
And well.... that business method was so disgusting just thinking about it makes me want to puke. The boss who calls himself 'Alpha', started trafficking young girls with pretty faces and a good body. The boys weren't spared either—those with handsome features were sold to be used as a prostitute just the same.
I won't pretend to be some kind of hero. I wasn't the type to throw myself into danger for others. But anyone with a shred of humanity would find the idea disgusting.
Then on November 22 — which was my fifteenth birthday, I was summoned by the boss Alpha to receive a present from him.
You probably guessed it: paralyzed, trapped, stripped of any illusion of control—I became just another one of his toys.
Watching others become toys were different. Sure, it was sad and disgusting to watch but I didn't want to step in and fight a whole gang. I was silently glad it wasn't me who was being used as an object.
But now... I can't take it anymore!
That's basically my story. I escaped from Alpha, built my own gang to fight to him, to save the other poor people who had gone through the same fate as me — if not worse.
I fought tirelessly. I killed many but also lost many. My companions who had made the situation even worse by stabbing me in the back, even now, I am lying in an empty apartment slowly bleeding, my stomach torn open because of some traitors.
Humans are selfish creatures. They all have something dear to them, something they want to protect. So, they lie and hide. Even destroying other's dreams in the process.
We will kill and steal to ensure our own survival. That's just who we are, or maybe that's just how the world is.