Alan woke up, but didn't up his eyes yet.
On gaining consciousness, he almost lost it again. Pain flooded his chest so much that his synapses almost snapped. It was all too sudden.
And it didn't feel right too. From what he remembered, he'd been shot in the head.
In fact, nothing felt right. He was supposed to be dead.
He cracked an eyelid open. He was lying in some dark alley.
'Wait! An alley again?'
His breath seized for a split second. He almost spluttered out but held it in when he noticed something else.
Another - no two ragged breathing aside his almost noiseless own. Their owners were two men, one unattractively slim, the other fat in an ugly way too, dressed in long grey coats, searching for something around where he lay.
At least that's what he guessed.
Alan suddenly remembered the near-negligent pain he'd woken up with. Raising his head an inch, he could see an embellished dagger protruding out of his stomach.
'Oh hell…not again'
Just then, a flake of snow fell onto his nose.
'Wait…snow?'
What the actual fuck was going on here? Surprise and pain just kept on exchanging their hold over his nerves.
Moreover, this body had just been murdered. Naturally, he knew one of those two men would be the killer.
Then it would be unwise to move before they were gone.
Alan could guess that his body had been rummaged through and searched. That theory explained his ripped clothing and itchy skin.
Apparently, one out of those two men didn't apparently take hygiene serious.
Back to the point…they were obviously not just mob criminals, but neither were they elite assassins too. But they were surely hired, to kill and recover something from him.
Something they thought he kept on his person all the time, for them to speculate that he would be with it. What could that be?
And who was this enemy that wanted him dead without hesitation?
He had to find answers to all this, if he really did wanted to enjoy his second chance at life.
Because that's what he called this. This wasn't reincarnation, neither was it transmigration. He knew the concept of both, having being an avid web novels reader in his 'past' life.
But that didn't matter.
Somehow, he'd survived death at the hands of that 'Cardholder', and now he'll live a quiet life, find some homely woman and a good job this time, with some luck from the same god that granted him a second life…
All that was just him musing.
Very first day of his second life, he'd being killed already. That alone meant that he should abandon all hopes of a normal life.
After a while, the two men gave up on finding whatever they were after, and began to speak of leaving. The taller, slim one lit a cigarette, while the fatter one returned to retrieve his dagger, his beefy neck dangling like sagging wires, when he bent over Alan.
As he did, a thick cloud of reeking filth and foul odor settled over him, one actually capable of stifling one to death.
Yeah, no mistake. This was the piggy on.
As he drew the knife out, Alan screwed his face as less as he can, using all his willpower not to wince as Beefy-neck drew the knife out.
For some reason, it was far more painful that it was supposed to be. As a tout, Alan had been stabbed a few times and knew 'that' extent of pain.
The fat guy didn't notice anything-to show the extent of his oblivion- and slid the dagger into a dagger into a scabbard. While doing so, Alan caught a glint of the blade from the cigar's glowing stub and immediately realized something.
That blade wasn't made from plain metal or steel. It was silver.
So that was why the stab had been so excruciating…
Alan felt the pain in him dull from excitement. His face glowed up instantly, his lips curled into an almost semicircular smile.
So he was a… vampire?
Alan had grown up watching vampire movies, and always envied them. He didn't mind the part about being bloodthirsty, didn't care about sunlight (he was part nocturnal) and loved their other powers, especially speed.
Sadly, his fantasy was about to be cruelly cut short.
"Hey", Slimguy called out to Smelly, "don't you think he dropped it somewhere along the alley?"
"Nah," Smelly shook his head, slipping the dagger into the inside of his coat. "All Cards glow up when their owner dies. I've seen enough to be sure. It isn't here, let's go check his apartment."
The duo walked away, leaving behind smoke rings and an unforgettable stench. The cigarette smoke didn't even hold out to Smelly's reeky odor.
The moment they walked out into the glare of a street lamp right outside the opening into the alley, Alan stirred at last, panting.
He'd been unconsciously holding his breath in since the two started talking. And he could swear he hadn't heard right.
Were they talking about him? And what was this about a card that glows when its owner dies?
Alan's head was buzzing with a lot of thoughts. And he didn't want to think. First of all, he desired to take a nice, long bath, and wash off this blood and Smelly's signature odor, then have a real long nap.
Maybe by then, he might ready to listen to his brain.
Alan began trying to rise, with a series of groans and winces. After a while, he finally managed it. he shrugged off his jacket to press it onto his wound.
He didn't even know what it was supposed to help him achieve; he was just doing as he'd seen people do in the movies.
He gritted his teeth as he walked towards the alley's entrance. He had to tread carefully, to avoid broken bottles scattered around and the cobwebs that draped heavily at random. At times, he began to wonder where those cobwebs were hung from.
Sure, this was a rough town.
He finally got to the street, after what seemed like a century. He stayed just close to the outside, leaning on the inside wall, one hand still pressing his jacket to his chest.
And it wasn't changing anything. Blood still streamed out like water from a dying fountain. He'd just gotten his jacket bloodied.
Alan started to feel himself lose consciousness, his head becoming lighter and lighter like an inflated ball.
Suddenly, a car skidded to a stop right underneath the street lamp. Alan stared at it, but his eyes lost focus as easily as he blinked. It was so bad that he could barely make out the color, let alone the face of whoever bustled out of it and ran in his direction.
"Allo!"
Allo? Who was that?
Alan's supporting shoulder slid off the wall, and he crumbled even before he could gasp in surprise. His chest hit the ground with a low thud, multiplying the pain.
Alan groaned, and rolled onto his back, fresh blood drenching his sides and stomach. He could barely see now, but he could see fuzzy outlines of some people, one screaming "Allo", and he could also something muffled…but he heard it all right. "Brother?"
'Brother? I have a younger sister in this world?'
That one was unmistakably feminine. And cute too.
Alan managed a smile in spite of everything he felt at the moment.
'I don't care who's after me or why, but I must live this life to the fullest.'
A pair of hands wrapped around his waist and shoulder, then someone scooped him up as delicately as a cracked egg.
He could hear vague protests from his obvious friend and sister, but then someone spoke to them harshly in clipped tones.
Alan didn't know how but he did managed to hear it, and on hearing it, his blood froze, boiled and churned simultaneously.
Not in fear. Not in shock. But anger.
Anger so hot that the pain from his chest was immediately relegated to the backseat of his nervous system, replaced by the rage. So therefore, he felt it no more.
And those words were;
"Buzz off. The Card Holder is ours."