The shower had done little to wash away Nikolai's thoughts.
He knew why he'd been hunted so fiercely in his past life.
His father hadn't been just another military scientist, he had specialized in genetic modification, chasing the idea of creating super soldiers for the government.
John had been his first success, his first test subject. That was why 001 was burned into the back of his neck.
The number had another meaning too. John had become the first active agent of a private hitman organization that had worked alongside his father before his death.
His father had played both sides, serving the government while feeding secrets to the underground.
When his father died, every faction wanted the same thing: the full formula that made John what he was.
Only John had known it.
Thinking about it still brought a flicker of guilt. His enemies had reached for him in many ways, and one of those moves had taken his daughter and her family.
It wasn't something he liked to dwell on. He pushed the memory down, burying it deep where it couldn't slow him.
Now another thought surfaced, dangerous but tempting. Could he replicate the serum here? If this world was similar enough, he might rebuild what once gave him his edge. It would be a powerful advantage in a body this weak.
For now, he pushed the idea aside and worked. He cleaned.
Blood was scrubbed from the floor. Broken things were stacked neatly or thrown away. The small, aging apartment wasn't much, but by the time he finished, it was organized, a place he could think and plan.
He liked order. In chaos, order kept you alive.
But out of everything, a small smile appeared on Nikolai's face.
He was young again. According to the ID he'd found, this body was twenty-three. A good age to start over.
If he'd been older, time would already be against him. If he'd been a teenager, no one would take him seriously.
Twenty-three was balanced, young enough to build a future, old enough to command some weight.
Still, the body itself needed work. Too thin, no real presence. He would have to train, add muscle, and build an image that could intimidate when needed.
He'd always believed power needed both respect and fear.
Some said leaders should choose one, but Nikolai disagreed. Loyalty, respect, and fear could walk together if balanced.
People should fear you enough to never consider betrayal, but also respect and trust you enough to follow out of choice, not only survival.
It was a hard line to hold, but one he liked. Treat your people well, but keep a firm hand when it mattered. That was how you built something stable.
Night had settled by the time Nikolai was done.
He glanced around the apartment. No phone. No television. No computer. No real way to contact anyone or even distract himself. This life had been bleak, no comfort, no safety net.
Hunger reminded him of the basics. He opened the small fridge and found a few scraps of food, enough for a simple meal. He ate quietly, still thinking, still adjusting.
Before lying down, he checked the locks on the door twice, testing each one. Then he took the kitchen knife he had used earlier, wiped it clean, and slid it under his pillow.
Finally, he lowered himself onto the bed. The room was still, silent except for the faint hum of the old fridge.
For the first time in this new life, Nikolai closed his eyes and let himself rest.
In another part of the city, a large warehouse buzzed with movement. Men carried heavy boxes in and out under harsh lights.
Inside a small manager's office on the second floor, a man sat behind a wide desk. He was in his late thirties, sharp-eyed, a knife turning lazily in his hand as he listened.
Across from him stood three men, the same ones who had fled Nikolai's apartment.
"So…" the man behind the desk spoke slowly, dragging each word out. "You went to get my payment. And when he refused…" He paused, watching them nod nervously.
"You decided to try something new. Fear?"
"Yes, boss," one said quickly. "People aren't scared anymore."
"So I'm weak?" The boss's voice stayed quiet but dangerous.
"No, no, boss. It's just… beatings don't work like before. We wanted them to know they can lose something."
The boss leaned forward slightly, knife still twirling between his fingers. "Let me get this straight. You tried your idea. And failed."
His eyes moved to the first man. "You got your nose broken."
He turned to the second. "You lost an eye." The man with the bandaged face flinched.
Then his gaze landed on the third, the one who had spoken the most and looked untouched. "And you…" the boss said softly, "…what did you lose?"
The man froze, mouth opening and closing without a word.
The room went silent except for the faint hum of the lights.
The uninjured man glanced at his two partners. Neither met his eyes.
"I mean, you look completely fine," the boss said, standing slowly from his chair.
The man swallowed hard. "Boss—"
"But that's not the point here." The boss's tone stayed calm, which somehow felt worse. "Do you understand what your failure means? Do you know how it makes me look when my men can't do a simple job? That reflects on me."
He stopped twirling the knife and let it rest loose in his grip as he stepped closer.
"We understand, boss," the man stammered.
"No," the boss said flatly, "you don't."
Sweat broke out across their faces.
"Tell me," the boss continued, eyes fixed on the man who'd stayed quiet until now, "how exactly were you going to make them lose something?"
The injured men glanced down.
"We… we were going to take his finger," the man said softly. "And keep coming for more if he didn't pay."
"Very smart idea." The boss smiled without warmth. "Now tell me, how do I make sure you don't fail me again?"
Only then did the man seem to understand where this was going. His mouth opened, but no words came.
"Sir, we promise, we can fix it," he rushed out finally. "We've been beaten, but we'll finish it. We won't let him go."
"They've been beaten and lost something," the boss said, pointing the knife toward the others. "You haven't."
The man's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes darting to the blade.
"Now," the boss said quietly, stepping closer until he was only a breath away, "how do I know you're serious? You want to prove loyalty? Then you lose something too."
The room went still.