The rain outside was falling hard. Hitting the asphalt ground with no mercy. Neon light flickered casting shadows into the dark night. The place was quite,only the sound of gunshots muffled by rain could be heard.
In a dimly lip alley filled with overflowing garbage cans , a river of diluted red liquid flowed down into the road swirling around before draining into the drainage system at the side of main road .
People looked sideways the moment they spotted the liquid not daring to look or walk into the alley. In this part of town curiously could get you and your family killed.
Gangs ran the area and this scenes were a common thing to see.
In the quite alley lay Mikhail volkov, dying, in a pool of his and his enemies blood. His blood washed by the rain.
The scent of iron, rain, gunpowder and a faint trace of tobacco clung to the air. He could feel the aura of death clinging to him.
He sprawled on the cold group the blood pool under him widening despite the rain washing it away . His body was leaking blood like a tap.
His gloved hands was still clutching the pistol that had shot him. He had been betrayed by the very weapons he held for most of his life. He'd ripped it from him, his friend and killing him after being shot. At least his enemy had died with him.
He could here the faint sounds of police sirens as they approached and the sound of feet tapping on the ground as men ran. No one wanted to be caught anywhere near the crime scene.
Betrayal always comes from those who smile the sweetest.
He laughed, his voice dry and bitter, the sound forcing itself from his drowning lungs. Breathing was becoming a hassle.
" Figures," he murmured into the night as his vision blurred lights turning into mirages.
He wondered if he would even be buried,or just thrown to the dogs. He didn't care . He had lost.
Then it went dark.
...
He woke with a start. He was on a bed facing black cealing.
The air was thick with perfume and cigarettes. He looked around confused. Gold trimmed curtains hung over a huge floor to ceiling windows, letting in the dying light of the setting sun. His fingers brushed again the velvet sheets, soft and unfamiliar, this was something he could never sleep on. Too expensive.
" Boss?"
A man stood at the door wearing a straight suit, trembling slightly," boss, you're awake. We brought the bodies from the east dock."
Bodies and Boss , Mikhail wondered. He looked at the man who was also very unfamiliar to him but he seemed to reffer to him as their leader.
He could not wrap his head around what was happening.
Mikhail stood up slowly. His bare feet touching the warm floor.He felt the weight of a ring on his finger. He lifted it and started to study it. It was a crest ,a carving of a serpent biting its own tail. Probably a symbol of original owner family since he seemed to be wealthy.
He looked at himself in the mirror. The man staring at him was not him.
The man in the mirror had dark hair slicked back carelessly, a faint scar on his lip. He had ocean gray eyes,cold as ice, that were the same as his from his previous life if you could call it that.
Memories slowly tricked into his mind, voices,screams, please and deals made in the darkness of the night.
Mikhail sokolov. Head of the scarlet viper syndicate. One of the final bosses in a Bl novel.
Mikhail lips twitched. Of course.Fate just had to play with him
It then came to him, he had been reincarnated into a bl novel that he had found in one of the people he was sent to collect Dept. He had sat in his apartment blood still in hands as he read the book , filled with crime,lust and betrayal.
The protagonist had been an under dog , joined the scarlet syndicate under his nose after he had killed his family in a turf war. To get revenge. The story had not ended kindly for the villain.
So why the hell was he here?
...
By midnight he had tested the voice, the face and temper of his new body and decided not to commit suicide.
Later that night he was sitting enjoying one of the most expensive cigarettes he had ever used while reviewing everything about the gang, it's dealing, allies and enemies.
A nervous underling came in with a new recruite on tow for interrogation. He looked at the new recruite and everything fell into places.
The young man kneeling before him wore the face of the book protagonist. The little double he had disappeared. The protagonist photo was on the cover plus this scene was how the novel began.
So this was fates plan, he mused.
" What's your name?" Mikhail asked his voice low ,lazy and quiet.
"... Dimitri," he answered after a moment of hesitation his eyes downcast.
Lies.
Mikhail rose cigarette still burning between his fingers. He took a puff and released it into air. The smoke from the cigarette drifted towards the kneeling protagonist.
He turned and looked at the protagonist straight in the eye.
" You know," he said slowly raising his gun," I hate trouble."
The next sound was a gunshot. The protagonist had no time to react , he was dead. Killed before the first page even ended.
The cigarette fell from his lips it hit the floor the floor still burning.
He exhaled watching as the blood turned of the fire mixing with the cigarette.
" Loose ends," he murmured," they ruin the view." He knew what mercy could do and he was not going to offer it just to anyone.
The protagonist was the son of luck, he knew the consequences of letting someone like that grow would be his demise.
The night outside seemed darker than usual.