A heavy gun fight erupt, the mafia has found it's mole that has been leaking information to their rival gang, his name Marco Vitale.
"Die, Son of Whore!!!"
"Antonio, get him from side!"
A bullet finally pierced someone's flesh—it was Marco. He let out a yelp as his jugular was hit, blood pouring out. He was bound to bleed to death. The mafia closed in on him, slowly creeping to check.
One finally exclaimed, "Infame shit is dead."
---
The next morning, a poster announcing Marco Vitale's death was pasted near the police station in Verona.
---
Darkness stretched ahead, the world blurred in a haze, and a voice, speaking to itself, questioned, "Where am I?"
I was supposed to deliver Salvatore Moretti's address to him. My head hurts.
He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't. The pain was throbbing, his head felt like it was splitting.
He raised his hand to examine his wound. The moment his fingers made contact with his head, a sharp pain shot through him, traveling down his spine.
ARGHHHH
What the ****!
Skrimishing in pain, he wriggled like a worm on ground.
After a minute or so, when the pain finally subsided, he slowly opened his eyes. In front of him was a hat—not the classic hat associated with the mafia, but an excavation hat meant for safety. He grimaced at the sight of it. Glancing around, he realized he was in a damp cave, with only a faint glow from the moss providing minimal light.
"What's that glowing thing?"
Slowly, giddy himself up, he looked forward, there was a hole in the cave, maybe that were the exit was, there wasn't any opening besides it, he thought to himself, and finally decided to leave through it. he had to see what was on the other side.
The hole was narrow, and he squeezed through it, struggling as he went. It would have been easier if he were smaller, but for some reason, his body seemed larger than he had imagined. Not only was he bigger in size, but he was taller too.
The earth seemed to bend toward him, determined to foil his escape, as if it wanted to consume him and use him for nourishment.
Cramped and exhausting, it was the kind of place that would drive anyone with a fear of tight spaces into panic. Not only was it confined, but as he moved further, the passage became even narrower.
He gasped, nearly out of breath, suffocating in the narrow crevice of earth.
"They buried me alive!"
As he struggled through the narrow exit, memories flooded back. He had just made a pact with a police informant to reveal the location of Salvatore Moretti, who was in hiding after the brazen daylight murder of Stefano Conti.
He was supposed to meet him at night near the port of Venice, then head south toward Chioggia and escape on a fishing boat. It was his perfect plan. He was tired of working for Moretti, wanted his share, and decided to run off. So, he sold the informant location of Salvatore to start a new life outside of Italy.
But he was confronted by Lorenzo and his goons. Caught in a gunfight with them, he felt scared and cornered. As Antonio flanked him from the side, his vision suddenly vanished, and he felt pain just before everything went dark.
Marco touched his neck as he struggled within the narrow walls of the hole, trying to probe his wound, but there was none.
"That's strange... Didn't I get hit in the jugular?"
The light finally broke through the exit, and he realized he was close to the surface. Fortunately, it was already daylight outside.
"Finally, some good news."
The last part of the tunnel was much narrower than his body, forcing him to dig with his hands to get out. Luckily, his hands were much larger than before, making it a bit easier to dig.
"Why am I so big after almost being buried alive? Does resurrection turn you into some kind of superhuman?"
"Yeah, I bet. I'm like some monster brought back to life with electricity, hahaha!"
His head emerged from the forest floor, and he carefully pulled his body out, his hands gripping the ground with surprising strength for someone who should have been lifeless. As he freed himself completely, he looked around. He was in a lush, green forest, deep and vibrant. It was breathtaking. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a shimmering effect that looked like dancing silver wings.
"Stranded in the forest, innovative, aye!"
He glanced at himself, noticing his unusual attire—khaki pants paired with a brown coat buttoned to the top. He looked like an archaeologist. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an ID card. It read: Adrian Marquis. Cartographer.
As he read further, it revealed that he was from the Royal Meridian Academy, Roseland.
Confused and a bit panicked, he wondered, "Did they really give me shabby clothes instead of a proper suit for the burial? But why? Is it some kind of symbolism? I had no idea Moretti carried out their killings with an artistic flair."
Gathering his thoughts, he tried to stay calm, but he had no idea what to do next. During his childhood survival days, he occasionally hunted rats for food, but that was the extent of it.
"First, I need to find some shelter, then I can think about other things. A road—yeah, it would be better if I found a road. It shouldn't be that far, I think?"
Before venturing deeper into the forest, Marco marked the hole he had exited through. He broke off some tree branches, crafted a makeshift cross, and planted it firmly in the ground beside the hole.
He rummaged through his pocket to see if he had anything else, but all he found was his ID.
"Damn it. Shouldn't a cartographer have a map in his pocket?"
The sun hung high in the sky as a man ventured deeper into the shadowy forest. Soon, the thick canopy blocked out the sunlight entirely, plunging the path ahead into darkness. With each step forward, the forest grew darker and more ominous.
"I've got a bad feeling about this..."