1 Prologue
In the vast expanse of the ocean, a lone yacht was visible. Aboard it were four men, armed and watchful, their gazes fixed on a figure before them. This man, blindfolded and bound, was struggling to breathe, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each labored breath.
Amidst the sound of the waves and the scent of saltwater, the captive could tell he was on a boat, rocking gently with the rhythm of the sea. With a voice roughened by distress, he uttered, "I can't believe the boss would do this to me..."
One of the men, whose attire and manner screamed of his underworld affiliations, let out a scoff. "You better believe it. Right now, we're in the middle of nowhere, poised to feed you to the sharks," he said with a menacing grin. Then, pausing for effect, he continued, "Or, you might just drown. What a tragic end. Frankly, being devoured might seem like a kindness in comparison."
The man, struggling for air, spoke with a trembling voice filled with indignation. "You guys... Have you forgotten how I looked out for you? Back when you were all just starting out in the gang—I was the one who showed you the ropes! And this... This is how you repay me?" His words were laced with a mix of anger and disbelief.
"Ah, now you're really laying it on thick," sneered one of the men, before delivering a harsh kick to the captive's stomach, eliciting a pained groan.
"You think you're the reason we made it and thrived in the gang? That's laughable!"
"It's our hard work that got us here, not you, you traitor!" Another man added insult to injury with a punch, underscoring his words with violence.
One of them spat on the beaten man, adding, "We're just doing our job, Lorenzo. Don't take it personally." He then pressed his foot against Lorenzo's face with increasing force, his words cold and ruthless. "Blame your own bad luck for getting caught up in that disastrous deal. Had you made better choices, you wouldn't find yourself in this mess."
Humiliation and anger coursed through Lorenzo as he spat out his defiance. "Damn you and your ancestors, Marco. I should've left you to die in that raid—hng!" His tirade was abruptly cut short by a slap from Marco.
Slap
A second slap struck Lorenzo's face, followed by a brutal thud as Marco used his gun to hit Lorenzo's head. "Gah!" Lorenzo gasped in agony. Marco, gripping his hair, sneered, "Quit your babbling, you're finished anyway. And yet, you still dare to spout such nonsense..."
"Should we just dump him now?" one of the men interjected, growing impatient with the delay.
Marco stood, hands in his pockets, then turned away from Lorenzo, addressing his crew with a cold command. "Put a bullet in his head before tossing him into the sea."
"Do we have to kill him right now? Wouldn't it be more satisfying to watch him struggle?" another voice questioned.
"Yeah, I want to see him flailing in the water, gasping for air," added another, reveling in the cruelty of the suggestion.
Marco's frown deepened as he listened to the casual cruelty of his men. He interjected with a tone of finality, "We need to ensure he's dead—his body lost forever in these depths. And..." His gaze shifted to Lorenzo, heavy with consideration. "Should he somehow survive and seek revenge, it would spell trouble for us." Marco respected, perhaps even feared, Lorenzo's resilience and prowess. He acknowledged that capturing Lorenzo had been possible only because he had let his guard down, misled by the belief that Marco, an old ally, could be trusted.
"What? Boss Marco, are you really scared of him? Even if he did survive, it wouldn't be a big deal—"
Bang
The retort was cut short by the deafening sound of a gunshot. Marco had made his point clear, decisively ending the life of the man who had dared to question his orders.
The sudden violence shocked the remaining men into silence. They watched, swallowed by fear, as Marco, without a hint of hesitation, turned his cold gaze upon them. Initially, they tensed, anticipating the worst, but then Marco simply commanded, "Throw him overboard along with Lorenzo."
"Un-understood, boss," they stammered, quickly complying. They lifted the body of their now-silent comrade, who moments ago had been smirking alongside them, and tossed it into the sea's oblivion.
Marco merely glanced at Lorenzo one last time before retreating into the yacht to unwind, leaving the grim task to his underlings.
"Who's going to do it? Me or you?"
"Let's settle it with rock-paper-scissors."
Amid the tense atmosphere, the two men resorted to a childishly simple game to decide who would take Lorenzo's life.
Lorenzo, despite the dire situation and the blood trickling from his head, managed to laugh. "Hurry up, or you might be next on Marco's list."
"Shut up..."
"Quite eager to meet your end, aren't you? Take a moment, breathe—it's not like you're going anywhere."
"I've been 'taking my time' for the past hour," Lorenzo retorted with a bitter laugh. "In any other circumstance, you two would be dead for your incompetence..."
Their patience worn thin, one of them snapped, "Enough. Any last words?"
As the cold barrel pressed against his head, Lorenzo offered his final thought with a dark chuckle. "Tell Marco... to watch his back in the underworld. Who knows? His fate might be even worse than mine—"
Bang!!!
The echo of the gunshot marked the end of Lorenzo's defiance. And yet, the eerie echo of his laughter seemed to linger, a chilling reminder of his final words.
"He faced his end bravely," one remarked, a hint of respect in his voice.
"Indeed. It's clear why Marco was cautious," the other agreed.
As they conversed, Marco approached, his figure casting a long shadow over the scene. Observing Lorenzo's lifeless form, he commanded, "Finished? Dispose of him."
The finality of the moment hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the ruthless world they inhabited.
As the two henchmen followed through with Marco's cold directive, tossing Lorenzo's body into the unforgiving sea, they felt no compulsion to relay his final message to their boss. Yet, unknown to them, Marco had caught every word, the ominous warning not lost on him. Lorenzo's parting words irked Marco, stirring an uneasy premonition within him.
His contemplations were violently interrupted by a sudden explosion from the yacht's cockpit. Fire and smoke billowed out, signaling imminent disaster.
"Boss Marco! It looks like there were hidden explosives on board! We need to get out of here—"
"Boss Marco—"
Panic set in quickly among the men. In their scramble for safety, another explosion tore through the yacht, sealing their fate before they could even attempt to escape into the sea.
Marco, despite his instincts urging him to leap into the water and evade the engulfing flames, found himself caught in the blast. As the fire consumed him, the haunting echo of Lorenzo's final warning replayed in his mind: "His fate might be worse than mine—"
In those last moments, the prophecy fulfilled itself, leaving behind a stark reminder of the treacherous paths woven through the underworld.
---
Awakening in a dilapidated, small room, Lorenzo was immediately struck by the ancient, decaying surroundings. Yet, the state of the room paled in comparison to the shock of self-awareness that followed. Clutching his head as his heart pounded furiously, he whispered in disbelief, "I'm... I'm alive?"
His gaze drifted to a cracked mirror before him, offering a reflection that seemed utterly alien. The hands he observed were rugged, lined with callouses—undeniably the hands of someone accustomed to hard labor. But it was the face reflected back at him that sent a jolt of confusion through his mind. It wasn't his own.
The face in the mirror was younger, undeniably attractive, yet to Lorenzo, it appeared vulnerable, almost delicate. From his perspective, it seemed as though the slightest aggression could mar the soft features, a thought that unsettled him deeply. Lorenzo's identity crisis was palpable; he was trapped in a body and a face that were entirely foreign to him, a situation that raised more questions than answers.
"This is truly bizarre," Lorenzo whispered to himself, his confusion deepening as he noticed the outdated style of his attire. The high-waisted, pleated trousers coupled with a classic white dress shirt seemed lifted straight from the 1940s, a choice that baffled him. "Why the hell am I dressed like I've stepped out of a time warp?" he muttered, a mix of annoyance and bewilderment in his voice.
His contemplation was abruptly interrupted by a forceful knock at the door. Promptly, Lorenzo moved to answer it, revealing a young man on the other side, dressed in similarly dated attire.
"Lorenzo! What's keeping you? We're going to be late for work, come on," the young man urged, a hint of impatience in his tone.
Lorenzo, grasping for understanding, detained him with a question. "What work?"
"What do you mean? It's work—at the factory, obviously!" The young man brushed Lorenzo's hand aside, his impatience thinly veiled. "Look, if you're not coming, I'll head out without you," he stated briskly before departing, leaving Lorenzo to grapple with his bewilderment alone.
Left in a whirlwind of disbelief, Lorenzo decided to follow the young man, hoping to shed some light on his perplexing situation by exploring this supposed workplace. Every step he took felt surreal. By all logic, he should be dead, yet here he was—alive, in a body not his own, and about to embark on a day's work in a factory.
