"Ahhh."

Typically, when he felt a sharp, stinging sensation in his throat, something was wrong and now there it was something hot was making him hack uncontrollably. It was smoke.

What was smoke doing here?

"It hurts."

His burnt lips made words come out that sounded like his voice, but weren't like his voice at all. He inhaled and was blowing flames, as they licked at him like a raging lover.

Yet he wasn't dead yet; there was still fire behind him; fire was still searching his chest, arms, and face ... and living and hungry ... and cruel.

He let out a howl of anguish.

"WATER! I NEED WATER!!"

Nobody made an effort to help. Dozens of people were staring at him from every angle through the haze, cold and indifferent.

All of them were spectators, who just left him there to suffer and die.

Some laughed, others whispered. No one offered a hand to help or even acknowledged his existence. To them, he was not a man anymore, but rather a warning.

His vision began to blur.

The pain he was experiencing was out of this world. His mind was in a frenzy.

"Please." He squeaked, more whimper than voice.

No one could offer him a hand. All they did was remain silent and watch. A young boy even pointed and laughed as Arjen Jurrien's flesh burned.

"Public execution? In broad daylight? What kind of place was this?"

The ground seemed to turn beneath him as he knelt down in disbelief at the sight of his own reflection looking back at him from a puddle, but it wasn't just the reflection; it was that same shocking face/ - the filthy/horrible face of a man that looked nothing like him - reflected in front of him in the horrified facing/steaming puddle.

In a blind panic, Arjen Jurrien forcefully pushed his face into the water. The steam rose rapidly around him, escaping his mouth with an agonizing scream.

The steam clouded his view but he could still see the blood-stained water boiling about him, and that all too familiar reflection this stranger or demon in the water looking back at him had a set of silver eyes that glistened like molten metal,light tan skin and jet black hair.

Something felt off.

Arjen blinked, trying to understand who this person was, but no matter how hard he tried to make sense of what was looking back at him, the same reflection.

"Who is this... this is not me. What has happened to me?"

'Have I transmigrated?'

This was pure madness. This was something taken out of a book.

But his suffering was real enough; he could feel every bit of truth; this body felt nothing like his own; and he could deny all he wanted; wherever the hell he was, he wasn't home and then came a sudden ripping pain in the back of his head and it all suddenly made sense.

"My clothes have been consumed by flame. At least I still have pants

A short burst of laughter escaped through his mouth as he could still smell the smoke of burnt clothing.

"What am I supposed to do?" he said aloud "I don't know where I am."

The body he has taken, belonged to someone named Assad, but he does not know his last name, he simply turned out to be another drop-out that has turned to the underground.

"What kind of idiot doesn't have a last name?"

He snorted at his own comment, but it fell hollow.

Assad's memories spun around Arjen Jurrien's head, faces, the sound of gunfire, lying and betrayal, but all the times he tried to concentrate on them they slipped away like sand through his hand, and each time one slipped away it cut him.

"Why was Assad executed?"

The air was thick with hazy smoke, heavy - almost as heavy as the weight of my question.

Doorways of buildings that line the streets seemed to look back at Arjen like they were watching him.

"Damn, I'm already hungry, too."

Checking the pockets of Assad revealed that he was absolutely broke.

"Of course. Guess it's time to follow Assad's lead...although that means getting my hands dirty."

The maze of alleys twisted on endlessly, filled with piles of garbage and broken signs.

Men would laugh, but none of these men had anything to steal from them - this city had a criminal as well as a non-criminal element, and not one piece of bread could he could find.

That's until Arjen heard the crunch of someone eating. He turned towards the direction of the sound and saw, faintly glowing, the end of a cigarette, lazy smoke rising from an entire shadowy figure holding food.

"Don't think about it, just take it."

Arjen Jurrien took off, grabbing the food and running down the alley. The person never even flinched and simply watched me run away.

"Finally, Yes! Food!"

He fell to the ground and consumed his meal.

"Now, time to chow down..."

Before he could finish eating, he heard the way of talking that he was just using was not how he would typically talk. It felt really strange.

What that could mean was this style of talking could be the same type used by the person who had originally owned this body, Assad.

As he thought about what he had just said, a boot struck his face knocking him down and his lip began to bleed.

"You little shit, we don't do things this way," the person said with a low, feminine voice that was as icy as death.

Arjen attempted to crawl away, but another kick struck his side with full force, forcing a gasp from his lips as he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself to cushion further blows, with every blow that fell upon him, he was driven deeper into the ground and lost what little pride remained after each blow.

He let out half Assad's cry and the other half was his own.

"Stop! I'm sorry! I'll return it, just please stop!" he cried.

The figure finally took a step forward and he could see the cloud of smoke billowing from her with every breath. It was a woman; her shape was illuminated by the moonlight while the reflection of Assad's body shown back to him from her sunglasses.

"Mercy you say?" The woman clicked her tongue. "That will be your next lesson. If you think you will receive it around here, you are sadly mistaken."

She let out a breath of smoke that settled lightly around his bruises.

"However, I will let it slide this time; I was not all that hungry to begin with."

Arjen Jurrien stared up at her with eyes almost completely closed.

Something about her felt heavy, as if there was far more to her than what stood before him; she appeared as if she could see not only his body but the total stranger inside of it.

As if she were a predator ready to pounce upon her prey, the woman leaned her head to the right and scrutinized him.

"Mmm, hey kid. Do you need to make some money?"

"Yes, I'm broke."

She waved off his pressing need with one hand.

"Didn't ask for your autobiography."

As she put one hand inside of the pocket of her jacket, she turned to leave.

"Come on let's get out of here."

Their footsteps echoed through the streets, though the city was far from empty.

The woman led the way with a slow and deliberate pace while she smoked a cigarette that was in her mouth, and she never looked back at Arjen Jurrien while they walked.

Arjen was behind her a couple of steps, recuperating from being kicked in the stomach a few minutes earlier; they had walked quietly for several blocks.

"Is this the way you usually make your living by beating up strangers or am I just having bad luck." said Arjen Jurrien attempting to lighten the mood and break the awkward silence.

The woman continued on in silence.

"At least let me have your name or can I call you Boot to the Face Lady?"

Still no response from her, instead she blew out cigarette smoke in his direction, sharp and bitter.

Arjen Jurrien clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Tch... You're cold as ice, guess talking isn't your strong suit huh?"

Finally, her voice cut through the silence, steady and low.

"Talk is for those who have time. You haven't, yet."

Her words silenced him instantly. He didn't quite grasp what she meant, but the chill in her tone sent a shiver down his spine.

As she walked to the end of a wider street, the cigarette she was smoking looked like a predator's eye when the glowing end lit up in the darkness.

She blew out some smoke into the air and said without turning around.

"I want to see what you're made of."

Arjen frowned.

"...made of?"

Her eyes shifted across the street where there was a man leaving a bar across the street from where she was standing, he was somewhat drunk and humming as he walked away from a bar.

Without hesitation, she threw her cigarette down on the ground, stepped forward and before Arjen could even see what she was going to do next.

She also slammed her fist into the man's stomach and pushed him doubled over, then grabbed him by the collar and slammed his face against the wall. The sound of the skull hitting the concrete made a horrible noise that could be heard for miles around, like wet wood hitting metal.

Arjen was shocked and couldn't tear his stare away from her as she kept bashing the man's head without a single change in facial expression and completely focused.

After a few moments, she had took the shirt off of the man, who was obviously dead, and dropped the bloody shirt into Arjen's arms, where it remained covered with blood and had a heavy smell of booze.

"Put this on," she said flatly.

Arjen Jurrien just stared at the woman for what seemed an eternity before finally managing to say.

"...What the f**K is wrong with you?"

The mysterious woman lit another cigarette, her eyes narrowing as the smoke curled around her.

"Lesson one, kid this city doesn't give you anything for free. You take what you need, or you'll end up starving. It's that simple."

Arjen Jurrien reluctantly slipped the shirt over his shoulders. The cold bloodstains pressed against his skin, but he kept quiet.

They walked in silence again, the alleys closing in before opening up into a crooked plaza.

She paused, her gaze flicking toward a group gathered at the edge of the plaza.

Four men leaned against a wall, laughing too loudly, hurling crude remarks at a couple of girls passing by.

Cheap liquor bottles clinked against the cobblestones.

"See that group over there?" the woman asked, her voice flat.

Arjen Jurrien followed her gaze.

"Yeah. What's up with them?"

"They're in debt."

He shot her a look, narrowing his eyes.

"…To who?"

She didn't respond. She merely tilted her head slightly, exhaling smoke into the night, her cold eyes fixed on him.

That was all he needed to know and Arjen immediately understood.

His chest tightened, but his mind sharpened. If they owed her, then this was a test and the rules were already set.