8 Chapter 7: Top G....

Under the glow of the moon, Grim wandered the quieter, less glamorous streets of New York, a city known for its never-sleeping nights, but which also harboured darker lonelier corners.

In these parts of the city, the night belonged to the drunk, the homeless, and sometimes, the dangerous.

As he aimlessly walked, a brick from a deteriorating building began to fall directly above him. Inexplicably, Grim sensed its descent – not so much seeing it as hearing its whistle through the air.

He made no attempt to dodge it, and with a sickening crack, the brick smashed into his nose.

Unflinchingly, he stood there as the brick crumbled away, revealing his disfigured face, only for it to heal moments later, returning to its original state.

With a heavy sigh, Grim continued on his path, only to pause as he realized the source of the falling brick was an old church.

'Well, I've got nowhere else I need to be...'

Curiosity piqued, he approached the large, graffiti-laden doors and stepped inside.

The interior of the church was surprisingly well-maintained, clean and orderly, as if someone still cared for this abandoned place of worship.

Stained-glass windows depicted scenes from Christian lore, casting colourful patterns across the pews.

Finding a quiet spot, Grim awkwardly knelt – or rather, flopped – onto a mat. He cleared his throat, unsure of how to begin.

"Sooooo... I'm not sure what I'm doing here, or how I'm supposed to start this. Hell...oh wait, no, not hell. I mean...sigh, look, big guy, the one, He who is, Top G?... I'm not here to thank you or anything. I'm not even sure why I'm sitting here...but here I am."

He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I've had a crappy life...a really crappy life. But in my final moments, I felt...happy. And I wanted it to stay that way.

But now, for some unknown reason, I've turned into an undead, unkillable...thing. I'm not even sure I can call myself human, not that I care. But why me? I'm sure there are plenty of crazy scientists, heroes, or villains who'd kill for this ability...so why me?"

Grim took a deep breath, continuing, "Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I? Okay, I've never really asked you for anything. I never really believed you existed either. But if you're real, could I ask you to end me? Since you're so powerful, I'm sure if anyone can, it's you... Yeah, that's pretty much it. Oh, right, and Amen, I guess."

Not expecting any response, Grim stood and walked towards the exit.

As he stepped outside, a hooded figure holding a gun emerged from the shadows, their voice quivering with fear and desperation.

"Give me all your money, and I won't kill you!"

"..."

Looking up at the night sky, Grim couldn't help but laugh softly. "Well, that was quick. You don't waste time, do you?"

.....

In the quiet streets, Grim faced the would-be robber with an air of nonchalance.

"Unfortunately, I'm as broke as can be. All I have are these clothes, a knife, and some magazines. If you're into botany, The New York Times has a great story in section 8..." he rambled, unfazed by the gun pointed at him.

The robber's frustration mounted, his voice rising in desperation. "DON'T lie to me! Give me all your money now, and you'll live another day..."

Grim ceased his rambling and met the robber's eyes with a chilling, emotionless gaze.

"And what if I said I wanted you to shoot me?" he replied calmly, his words sending an involuntary shiver down the robber's spine.

Taken aback, the robber hesitated. "What the hell are you talking about? Stop screwing around or..."

"Or what? You'll shoot me?" Grim interjected, stepping closer and seizing the gun, pressing it against his temple. "Go on, it's easy. Just pull the trigger."

The robber, caught off guard by Grim's audacity, stammered in disbelief. "Y-you're crazy..."

Grim sighed, growing tired of the standoff. "Are you not going to shoot? Maybe you need a hand." He reached for the trigger, but before he could act, the robber recoiled in horror.

"No!!!..." he immediately pulled the gun away, and looked down "I-I never wanted to hurt you please I need the money for my sister I beg you, I, I didn't want to hurt anybody." He said on the verge of tears.

Grim just rolled his eyes" That much was obvious. Who threatens someone with the safety still on?" The robber, confused, checked the gun and realized Grim was right – the safety was indeed engaged.

"Here catch" Grim threw the wallet Brad had left behind in the bag and said.

"Use it, I don't need it, but a little piece of advice for the road, when you threaten someone don't shake like newborn Bambi...and if you do threaten someone with a gun, be ready to kill...or be killed yourself."

The robber, clutching the wallet, pondered his actions and Grim's words. He had come close to crossing a line from which there was no return.

Grim, meanwhile, continued his aimless walk through the city. Looking up at the sky, Grim mused to himself, "Is this really all you got, big guy? I expected more."

...

(One hour later...)

An hour had passed since Grim's encounter with the robber.

Aimlessly wandering the city streets, his attention was caught by a late-night food truck parked nearby.

He hadn't felt the pangs of hunger since waking up from what he could only describe as his resurrection. Reaching into his pocket, he found $1000, half of what he had left with the robber.

Intrigued by the idea of eating something after so long, Grim made his way toward the food truck.

As he approached, the truck's side door swung open abruptly, hitting him squarely in the nose.

He crumpled to the ground, his nose broken for the second time that night.

"Holy crap, you good?" the food truck employee exclaimed, rushing out to check on Grim.

Grim lay there momentarily, giving a thumbs-up as his nose healed swiftly, unseen in the darkness.

"Could I order whatever you're selling?" Grim asked, standing up.

"Of course, man, but it's on me, as an apology," the employee insisted.

Grim raised an eyebrow. "So, what do you sell?"

"We've got all sorts. Chicken tenders, lemonade, burgers. But our speciality? Chicho Chimichangas. They're fire, man."

"Chimichangas?" Grim echoed, unfamiliar with the dish.

"Yeah, you know, Chimichangas."

Grim shook his head, a blank look on his face.

"You've never had a Chimichanga, fool? Well, then, this meeting must be fate. I'm about to introduce you to a whole new world," the employee said, his enthusiasm infectious.

"Sure, whatever you recommend," Grim replied nonchalantly, not expecting much from this new culinary experience.

Thirty minutes later, Grim had polished off 20 Chimichangas, much to the astonishment of the food truck employee.

As he sat there, Grim couldn't help but think,

"Maybe this immortal thing isn't half bad. Well, before I die again, I've got to try all kinds of these Chimichangas."

A weird sense of determination filled him, a newfound purpose in his otherwise directionless existence.

The employee watched in amazement, never having seen anyone enjoy his food quite like this. "Man, you really like them, huh? You're welcome here anytime, amigo."

Grim nodded, his stomach full and his spirits oddly lifted. "Thanks, I'll remember that."