'I'm such a mess,' he admitted, popping another pill as if it could fix him.
Soon he drifted off thanks to the medicine, but even sleep offered no mercy.
Nightmares haunted him since he was ten, and now he found himself again in what could only be described as hell.
Towering blocks of jagged, blackened stone stretched up like thin, cruel fingers, scraping the dark sky.
The ground was uneven, broken into a maze. Shadows twisted unnaturally, moving of their own accord, and the air smelled of fire and burned bodies.
Strangely, he always ended up back at the spot where the dream concluded.
Over ten years, this allowed him to slowly advance toward the tallest peak. Now, he finally stood at its base.
His eyes scanned the slope, and that's when he saw them: a cluster of shapes struggling against the stone.
Looking up, he saw the peak stretch into the dark sky, trying to reach the heavens using burnt corpses as a foundation.
Shane chuckled bitterly. This nightmare was twisted, sure, but he told himself it was just his mind adapting to trauma.
He wondered what would happen if he finally reached the peak. Would he wake up—or would this nightmare continue?
'Time to see it for myself.' He stretched his legs and began climbing. The burned corpses cracked and broke under his steps but kept on going.
Unfortunately, the peak was taller than it looks. He paused to rest.
Before him stretched the endless horizon of jagged towers.
'I probably did something horrible in my past—'
(Yes, you did.)
A small and sharp voice echoed, but he didn't panic.
Turning to the side, he saw a black crow with glowing red eyes picking on the ground.
"Muninn… you've been gone for almost a year," his voice carried genuine happiness, an emotion he rarely displayed in the real world.
The little fellow was his imaginary companion, appearing and vanishing at will.
(Seek no further beyond. What you desire lies within.)
It croaked, its voice lingering in the air before it took flight.
Shane sighed, watching it disappear once again, leaving only cryptic words that made no sense.
ring! ring! ring!
A sudden sound yanked him back to reality.
He opened his eyes, reached for his phone, and groaned after reading the message on the screen.
[Job at the market stalls tonight. The owner of that dim sum shop refused to pay, so we're making an example of him. Hurry up.]
'Another one.'
He remembered this shop all to well. The owner missed multiple payments because sales dropped hard for the last few months.
The inhumane interest didn't help either. It was straight-up robbery, but these people got no choice.
No bank would lend to them. Or maybe they were already buried in debt, crushed by the cost of surviving in a society that care too little for the normal citizens. Not that his own life was any better.
ring! ring! ring!
Another message forced its way onto the screen.
(We're outside already. Don't make us wait.)
Getting up, he wore a black hoodie and pocketed a kitchen knife.
click
Outside his room stretched a bare concrete hallway. A view he knew all too well, since his place was in the basement.
By the time he reached the main floor, Melisa was lounging on the sofa, Nathalie beside her, scrolling through her phone, each lost in their own little world.
Unlike his area, the rest of Robert's house was new and well-furnished—not that it was shocking, considering how much money he pulled in every day from illegal activities.
Just the loan business alone, with its staggering 20% interest, was enough to support a lavish lifestyle.
Nathalie spotted him, and quickly looked away, still upset over what had happened.
Melisa, on the other hand, smiled seductively, and even licked her lips to teased him.
"I'm going out." He tugged his jacket tighter and slipped out through the kitchen door.
On the roadside, a van was parked, and three men leaned against it, smoking and laughing loudly.
"You look like shit." Niko, a middle-aged man with a buzz cut, spat out, his saliva flying dangerously close.
Another man spoke up. "Hey, Niko, easy. The boss already beat him down enough—don't need you piling on."
"Nah, Leon. The kid is good at fighting. If he acted more like a real gangster, the boss would actually treat him like family."
Shane clenched his fists. They made it seem like he owed Robert a favor for being trained.
Robert was a skilled fighter himself, but what he wanted was a powerful pawn. He took inspiration from experiments that turned children into chess prodigies—training them relentlessly from a young age.
Boxing, Muay Thai, Judo, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, Krav Maga—these were just a few of the styles forced upon him.
Shane might not have mastered any of them completely, but knowing so many was an achievement in itself.
In terms of combat ability, there was no doubt he could take on his bastard uncle.
But trauma held him back. Facing his tormentor was like standing at the edge of a cliff while terrified of heights.
The human mind was a mystery: it adapted to experience, and changing it was never simple.
"Hey!" A young man, barely in his twenties, started shadowboxing. "How about we spar a bit? I want to see just how strong you really are."
Each punch sliced through the air with a whoosh, his stance and form good enough for professional boxing.
Niko started laughing. "Oh, I forgot to introduce him. This kid's Erick, our new guy. Used to box in college as a varsity player, but got banned for fighting in the streets and extorting students."
Shane didn't answer. Why bother with someone who threw away his future just to crawl in the gutter like a common thug? If there was one thing he despised, it was those who had it all yet chose this path.
Erick lunged anyway, throwing a quick jab.
Shane barely moved, tilting his head just enough to let it slip by.
Another jab came, followed by a series of punches. He dodged and blocked them all, showing just how far ahead he was. Only when Erick lowered his hands did he finally let his guard down.
"Man, big bro Niko was right," Erick admitted, panting. "You really are good at fighting."