The moment I had been waiting for finally arrived.
The orb appeared once again, flooding me with memories and the abilities of the new person I had become—Francis Nganour.
He was 21 years old. Since childhood, he had always dreamed of becoming a Mixed Martial Arts fighter. But life had other plans. He gave up on that dream due to unfortunate family circumstances. His mother, desperate to care for him, had borrowed money from dangerous men just to start a small business. That debt came with a price.
The goons harassed and beat his mother constantly, storming into her shop whenever she couldn't meet a payment deadline. Francis often stood helplessly across the street, watching the torment unfold. His mother had always pleaded with him not to intervene—her voice filled with fear and exhaustion. So he stood back, fists clenched, heart burning, watching his mother endure humiliation and pain.
Fueled by rage and helplessness, Francis trained harder each day. He believed that someday he would rise above it all, become the greatest MMA fighter, and free his mother from this living nightmare.
But with time, the harassment only worsened. Unable to take it anymore, Francis decided to put his dream on hold. He needed to find a way—any way—to save up money and clear his mother's debt.
It felt like every door he knocked on closed in his face. No job, no opportunity, no hope—until one day, everything changed.
He received a call from an unknown number. The man on the other end promised him something beyond his imagination: enough money to not only pay off his mother's debts but change both their lives forever—even if he never stepped into a ring again.
And the catch? Dangerous.
He was told to meet at a specified address. When he arrived, he met a man who introduced himself as an attorney. That's when he learned the truth: he was being asked to take the fall for a hit-and-run—one that almost resulted in murder.
In return, he'd receive a hundred million.
Francis was only 17 then. The so-called attorney explained that, since he was still a minor, he would likely be released on probation.
Without hesitation, desperate and convinced it was the only way to save his mother, Francis agreed.
The next morning, he walked into the police station with a plan to cause a scene. He wasn't the type to cause trouble, but he needed to be arrested, and fast.
"Why aren't there any cops in this place?" Francis shouted as he started throwing furniture and knocking things over.
A man emerged from one of the back rooms, probably sleeping in a detention cell. Clearly a cop—unkempt and annoyed.
"Who the hell are you? And What are you doing here causing trouble?" the officer asked.
Francis didn't back down. "I could ask the same thing. You look like a homeless man pretending to be a cop."
The man ignored the insult and sighed. "Look, who owes you money?"
"I'm here to turn myself in," Francis replied coldly. "I hit someone with a stolen car and ran. By the way... I'm still a minor."
The officer stared at him, stunned. No remorse. No guilt. Just facts.
Francis was taken in and charged with grand theft auto and hit-and-run.
But then, during the trial, everything took a sharp, irreversible turn—the victim died from from health complication due to the incident.
Francis was charged with manslaughter and sentenced to five years in prison. The promise of probation shattered like glass. The system didn't care about promises made outside the courtroom. His dreams of MMA, of freedom for his mother, all gone.
Crushed, Francis requested to see the man who set him up—the one who had actually committed the crime. He also demanded to confront the so-called attorney who had fed him all the lies.
Only the attorney showed up.
"I asked to see him, not you," Francis said with cold fury.
"Why would such an important person come to a place like this?" the attorney scoffed.
"Important?" Francis shot back. "He's more of a lowlife than I am. And this place? He's the one who should be rotting in it, you moron."
The attorney, switching to offense, tried to mock him. "Be quiet. You took the money. We're done here, lowlife."
Those words cut deep. They froze Francis's blood.
But instead of letting rage cloud his thinking, he began to strategize. This was no longer just about taking a fall. It was time to flip the game.
He leaned in, voice calm but threatening.
"Seems to me you and your client have the math all wrong. I've been charged with manslaughter. Five years of my life is gone. You think a hundred million covers that?"
The attorney said nothing.
"I want a billion," Francis continued. "Or I'll find a lawyer the day I get out. I'll go public and I'll tell them a minor took the fall for a drunk driver who killed someone. Let's see what the law does to your 'important' client then."
The attorney clenched his jaw, visibly angry. "All this talk of law... you could end up dead."
Francis didn't blink. "If there's anything I've learned in here—it's how to survive."
And with that, the orb vanished.
A wave of sadness swept through me. I stood frozen, breath heavy, trying to process everything. I was now living the life of another teenager falsely imprisoned, a painful life. Possibly the hardest one yet.
Just then, a familiar voice pierced through the fog.
It was Josh.
The lunatic still stood in front of me, fists clenched, a twisted smirk on his face. "So… how do you want to die?" He continued to ask me.
Before I could offer a response—or my fists—the guards shouted, ordering us back to our corners.
We obeyed. But while the other inmates feared Josh like a demon, I didn't. Not after living Sharif's life—murdered by this same lunatic. Not after everything I've endured. I felt rage, not fear.
As I sat back in my corner, I thought of how it all began—this strange rivalry between me and Josh. In truth, I was the reigning force in my cell. I ruled with discipline. The others respected—or feared—me. Some even massaged my shoulders as a sign of loyalty.
Then, Josh arrived.
Being the top dog made me feel like a king. Naturally, I expected him to fall in line. As he entered, I smirked and commanded, "Kneel. Show me you understand who rules this room."
I followed up with a jab, "What did you get locked up for? Upskirt photography?"
The room erupted with laughter.
Josh didn't laugh.
He simply said, "Murder."
And everywhere became silent.
"My impulses... I've always had them," he continued. "I wanted to know what it felt like—to kill. And once I did... I wanted more. But I got caught before I could scratch the itch. So now I'm here. Nothing to lose. Let's try to get along."
He walked calmly to the opposite corner and sat down.
From that moment, everything changed. The room that once bowed to me now feared him. Even I had to admit—I was shaken. But I couldn't show it.
Those were Francis's memories of Josh.
But I had my own. I remembered Sharif—the boy Josh murdered. And now, with this new life, I had the chance to make things right. I had the strength, the skills, and the anger.
Josh's life was about to get really hard.
And pathetic.
Because now—I could finally avenge Sharif.