Ezra burst through the crowded market, shoving past stalls and startled shoppers.
His oversized hoodie flapped with every stride, barely hiding the black duffel bag clutched in his hand.
He ran like his life depended on it, because well…. it did!
"Please, universe," he wheezed between breaths, "if I survive this, I swear I'll never gamble again. At least not with mob money."
Behind him, a black sedan sped through the narrow street, tires screeching as it plowed through a fruit cart.
"Out of the way, dipshit!" Ezra shouted, pushing someone out of his way. He vaulted over a fish crate as he tore out of the market and toward the seaside.
"Shit, shit shit, I'm dead."
His breath came in gasps, each step heavier than the last. He was fast for someone like him, but not tireless.
Shoppers scattered. Vendors screamed. A table of glass trinkets exploded behind him as the sedan fishtailed through the chaos, its relentless pursuit unyielding.
Shit! Those bastards wouldn't leave him alone, no matter what. Honestly, who chases a guy this hard over forty grand? Clearly, they hadn't gotten the memo about proportional response. No time to look back. He had to keep running!
He broke past the market's edge and ran toward the harbor, salt and diesel burning in his lungs.
Seabirds cried overhead. Cranes stood tall and rusty. Ships floated quietly in the water.
The dock creaked under his boots as he ran. Behind him, the sedan jumped the curb, tires screeching against concrete.
Ezra veered left onto the weathered pier, water slapping the pilings below.
Footsteps followed, fast, and close.
WHAM!
Someone tackled him from the side.
He hit the dock hard, the duffel bag skidding toward the edge.
He immediately scrambled up, snatching the bag, and tried to continue running without even looking at the individual who had tripped him.
He was slammed to the ground again, and a boot came down on his chest.
The man above him breathed steadily, calmly and trained.
Ezra ground his teeth, grabbing the buff man's leg and trying to remove it from his chest. Burned out from running, he was not strong enough to move the leg.
The sedan stopped. Doors flew open and three men climbed out.
The one in the middle, Randy, approached with a grin, flicking a switchblade open.
"You've reached a dead end, Ezra," Randy said with a grin. "Hand over the bag, and we'll…. only take a finger."
Ezra tucked his hands under himself. "B-but I won it fair and square!"
"We don't care," Randy said flatly. "You were never supposed to win."
As the others closed in, Ezra's heart pounded. That bag held forty grand, money he'd won at the casino starting with just two hundred bucks. Rent was due. His girlfriend was gone. His luck? Burned out.
All he knew was that if he didn't go home with some money, he wouldn't have a home to go back to. Come tomorrow, he was out.
So yeah, he was screwed either way.
"I'll split it," he said, trying to bargain. "Twenty for me, twenty for you. Sounds fair?"
Randy slid a toothpick between his teeth, that smug smirk riding his face like it paid rent. "We'll take all of it," he said. Then added, with a dry laugh, "But hey, we'll toss you back the two hundred you used to win. Charity, right?"
Ezra's jaw tightened. Fury bubbled just beneath the surface, but he kept his voice even. Controlled.
"I need that money. I've got nothing else."
Randy stared at him, dead-eyed. "Do I look like I give a fuck?"
Then he gave a small nod. His boys moved in.
Knowing that he'll be fucked if they took it, Ezra desperately scrambled to his feet again and started running, duffle bag back in hand.
Randy sighed. "What an idiot," he looked around the dock to see if there were any witnesses, then he reached into his pockets, took out a pistol, and shot Ezra in the head.
Ezra crumpled to the ground, the bullet piercing his head, his eyes wide open as he fell.
Death was quieter than he expected.
No choir of angels. No flashes of memory. Just the cold, buzzing hum. Ezra felt it slipping, his breath, his vision, his worth everything.
Years wasted on his girlfriend, his job, only to be dumped by her not long ago. His job? Fired, since his girlfriend was unfortunately the boss's daughter.
His dreams buried under bills, and a heart that gave out before the world even knew his name.
Then, darkness.
A vast, echoing emptiness swallowed him whole. No thoughts, no sensation, just an infinite, cold void that stretched on forever. He was nothing, utterly unmade. Time ceased to exist.
And then… crying?
Ezra blinked. Or at least, he thought he did.
Everything around him was blurry, warm, and muffled, like he was underwater.
A sharp beep cut through the fog. Then another. A monitor?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
'Huh? I'm alive? Alive!!' Shock hit him like a slap to the face.
He'd just been shot by some gangster. A bullet to the head.
The chances of surviving a shot to the head were almost zero. Yet here he was. Hearing. Thinking. Being alive.
Ezra tried to speak, but instead what came out was a cry. His hands were tiny. His body was very unfamiliar. Panic flared as he tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't obey.
And then, someone lifted him.
"Shh… shh… just one moment," whispered a voice that sounded sharp, scared, and desperate. The voice was very unfamiliar to Ezra.
When his eyes finally adjusted, Ezra saw soft golden lights floating above him. The walls curved smooth and silver, etched with faint glowing lines. The air smelled like antiseptic and crushed herbs. Machines hummed quietly nearby.
If this was a hospital, it sure as hell wasn't one from Earth. It looked too futuristic for anything that existed on earth.
He was very small. Two beautiful women stood before him, one in a fine silk robe, trembling visibly. The other, more younger, dressed in a hospital robe too, held a swaddled baby girl.
"Are you sure about this, Lady Althea?" the younger woman holding a baby girl whispered.
The older woman, Althea, nodded. Her lips quivered as she looked down at the baby. "They expected a girl. If they find out I bore a boy… they'll take him. Or worse. My family won't allow a male heir, not now. Not with what he could become in the future."
Ezra's mind spun in chaos. Boy? He was a baby boy again? His eyes darted around the strange room, and being held in the arms of some woman. What was going on? What was this place?
And most importantly, what the hell happened to his grown up body?
"I will raise your son," the poor young woman said, hesitant as she pressed the baby girl down, "but he'll be nothing, a field hand. You know that, right?"
"But he'll be safe." Althea brushed a tear from baby Ezra's cheek and placed him down in a crib next to the baby girl, "That's all that matters."
Then she bent over Ezra, kissed his forehead, and whispered: "You'll live with her now. The world will believe you're her son, but it's for your safety. Please forgive me."
And just like that, they exchanged their children. Athea exchanged her son with a daughter.
As all this happened, Ezra was so confused. 'Wow, I'm really a baby now.' he checked his body and confined it.
In all his confusion and trying to find meaning and understanding, Ezra finally thought of something that seemed to make more sense to him.
'Wait! Maybe, I got reborn into a different world? No, if I was reborn I wouldn't remember my old memories so quickly, I… wait– is this it? What do they call it, transi…, no, transmigration?'
Having been a bookworm in the past life, the idea clicked fast, absurd as it seemed. What else could explain this madness?